FAT  B  ®-~NA.<&  IE  o 

-Buciliurst  heard.it  with,  feelings   oi 

peraUon. 

He  found  "himself  in  the   open  fields,  i 
against  a  tree. —  "his  lie  art    almot'.' 

1 


"Look,  mi-am,  a  mere  ttrij  ! 
ters  tare  eadi--  whicbi  gi 
pery.  nor  -majesty.' 


two  dreadths    of  three  quar- 
no fdfls  in  nature,  nor  <5ra- 


. 


Harper's  Stereotype  Edition, 


TALES   AND   NOVELS 


BY 


MARIA  EDGEWORTH. 


EIGHTEEN     VOLUMES     BOUND     IN     NINE. 


VOLS.  XV.  &  XVI. 


VOL.    XV. 


CONTAININO 


PATRONAGE. 


NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  J.  &  J.  HARPER, 

NO.    82    CUFF-STKEET. 

AND   BOLD   BY   THK   PRINCIPAL   BOOKSELLERS   THROCOHOBT 
THB   UNITED   STATES. 


3s  f  fCT*>'f 
o  7 


PATRONAGE 


PATRONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

LETTER  FROM  CAROLINE  TO  ERASMUS. 

"  My  DEAR  ERASMUS, 

"  YOUR  friend  and  patient,  Mr.  Gresham,  was  so  eager 
to  take  your  advice,  arid  so  quick  in  his  movements,  that 
your  letter  announcing  your  intended  visit  reached  us 
but  a  few  days  before  his  arrival  at  the  Hills.  And — 
mark  how  great  and  little  events,  which  seem  to  have 
no  possible  link  of  connexion,  depend  upon  one  another 
— Alfred  or  Mr.  Gresham  must  have  sat  up  all  night,  or 
slept  on  the  floor,  had  not  Alfred,  that  morning,  received 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Hungerford,  summoning  him  to  town 
to  draw  her  son's  marriage  settlements.  It  is  thought 
that  Colonel  Hungerford,  whose  leave  of  absence  from 
his  regiment  has,  by  special  favour,  been  repeatedly 
protracted,  will  be  very  soon  sent  abroad.  Lady  Eliza- 
beth Pembroke  has,  therefore,  consented  to  his  urgent 
desire  for  their  immediate  union;  and  Alfred  will,  I  am 
sure,  give  them  as  little  reason  as  possible  to  complain 
of  the  law's  delay.  Lady  Elizabeth,  who  has  all  that 
decision  of  mind  and  true  courage  which  you  know  is 
so  completely  compatible  with  the  most  perfect  gentle- 
ness of  disposition  and  softness,  even  timidity  of  man- 
ners, resolves  to  leave  all  her  relations  and  friends,  and 
to  go  abroad.  She  says  she  knew  what  sacrifices  she 
must  make  in  marrying  a  soldier,  and  she  is  prepared  to 
make  them  without  hesitation  or  repining. 

"And  now  to  return  to  your  friend  Mr.  Gresham.  The 
more  we  see  of  him  the  more  we  like  him.  Perhaps  he 
bribed  our  judgment  a  little  at  first  by  the  kind,  affec- 
tionate manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  you;  but,  independ- 
ently of  this  prepossession,  we  should,  I  hope,  soon 


6  PATRONAGE. 

have  discovered  his  merit.  He  is  a  good  English  mer- 
chant. Not  a  '  M.  Friporl,  gui  sqait  dormer,  mais  qui  ne 
tqait  pas  vivre?  but  a  well-bred,  well-informed  gentleman, 
upright,  liberal,  and  benevolent,  without  singularity  or 
oddities  of  any  sort.  His  quiet,  plain  manners,  free  from 
ostentation,  express  so  well  the  kind  feelings  of  his  mind, 
that  I  prefer  them  infinitely  to  what  are  called  polished 
manners.  Last  night  Rosamond  and  I  were  amusing 
ourselves  by  contrasting  him  with  our  recollection  of 
the  polished  M.  de  Tourville — but  as  you  were  not  at 
home  at  the  memorable  time  of  the  shipwreck,  and  of 
M.  de  Tourville's  visit,  you  cannot  feel  the  force  of  our 
parallel  between  these  two  beings,  the  most  dissimilar  I 
nave  ever  seen — an  English  merchant  and  a  diplomatic 
Frenchman.  You  will  ask,  what  put  it  into  our  heads 
to  make  the  comparison  T  A  slight  circumstance  which 
happened  yesterday  evening.  Rosamond  was  showing 
Mr.  Gresham  some  of  my  drawings,  and  amongihem  the 
copy  of  that  beautiful  miniature  in  M.  de  Tourville's 
snuff-box.  My  father  told  him  the  history  of  Euphro- 
syne,  of  her  German  prince,  and  Count  Albert.  Mr. 
Gresham's  way  of  listening  struck  us,  by  its  contrast  to 
the  manner  of  M.  de  Tourville — and  this  led  us  on  to 
draw  a  parallel  between  their  characters.  Mr.  Gresham, 
instead  of  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  smiling  disdain- 
fully, like  the  Frenchman,  at  the  Quixotism  of  the  young 
nobleman,  who  lost  his  favour  at  court  by  opposing  the 
passion  of  his  prince,  was  touched  with  Count  Albert's 
disinterested  character;  and  quite  forgetting,  as  Rosa- 
mond observed,  to  compliment  me  upon  my  picture  of 
Euphrosyne,  he  laid  down  the  miniature  with  a  negli- 
gence of  which  M.  de  Tourville  never  would  have  been 
guilty,  and  went  on  eagerly  to  tell  some  excellent  traits 
of  the  count.  For  instance,  when  he  was  a  very  young 
man  in  the  Prussian  or  Austrian  service,  I  forget  which, 
in  the  heat  of  an  engagement  he  had  his  sabre  lifted  over 
the  head  of  one  of  the  enemy's  officers,  when,  looking 
down,  he  saw  that  the  officer's  right  arm  was  broken. 
The  count  immediately  stopped,  took  hold  of  the  dis- 
abled officer's  bridle,  and  led  him  off  to  a  place  of  safety. 
This  and  many  other  anecdotes  Mr.  Gresham  heard, 
when  he  spent  some  time  on  the  Continent  a  few  years 
ago,  while  he  was  transacting  some  commercial  busi- 
ness. He  had  full  opportunities  of  learning  the  opinions 
of  different  parties ;  and  he  says,  that  it  was  the  prayer 


PATRONAGE.  7 

of  all  the  good  and  wise  in  Germany,  whenever  the 
hereditary  prince  should  succeed  to  the  throne,  that 
Count  Albert  Altenberg  might  be  his  minister. 

"By-the-by,  Mr.  Gresham,  though  he  is  rather  an 
elderly  man,  and  looks  remarkably  cool  and  composed, 
shows  all  the  warmth  of  youth  whenever  any  of  his 
feelings  are  touched. 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  how  much  my  father  is  pleased 
with  your  friend.  He  has  frequently  repeated,  that  Mr. 
Gresham,  long  as  he  has  been  trained  in  the  habits  of 
mercantile  life,  is  quite  free  from  the  spirit  of  monopoly 
in  small  or  great  affairs.  My  father  rejoices  that  his  son 
has  made  such  a  friend.  Rosamond  charged  me  to  leave 
her  room  to  write  to  you  at  the  end  of  my  letter ;  but 
she  is  listening  so  intently  to  something  Mr.  Gresham 
is  telling  her,  that  I  do  not  believe  she  will  write  one 
line.  I  hear  a  few  words,  which  so  much  excite  my 
curiosity  that  I  must  go  and  listen  too.  Adieu. 
"  Affectionately  yours, 

"  CAROLINE  PERCY." 

Another  letter  from  Caroline  to  Erasmus,  dated  some 
weeks  after  the  preceding. 

"  Tuesday,  14th. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Erasmus,  your  friend,  Mr.  Gresham, 
is  still  with  us ;  and  he  declares  that  he  has  not,  for 
many  years,  been  so  happy  as  since  he  came  here.  He 
is  now  sufficiently  intimate  in  this  family  to  speak  of 
himself,  and  of  his  own  feelings  and  plans.  You,  who 
know  what  a  horror  he  has  of  egotism,  will  consider  this 
as  a  strong  proof  of  his  liking  us,  and  of  his  confidence 
in  our  regard.  He  has  related  many  of  the  instances, 
which,  I  suppose,  he  told  you,  of  the  ingratitude  and 
disappointments  he  has  met  with  from  persons  whom  he 
attempted  to  serve.  He  has  kept  us  all,  for  hours,  Rosa- 
mond especially,  in  a  state  of  alternate  pity  and  indig- 
nation. For  all  that  has  happened,  he  blames  himself 
more  than  he  blames  any  one  else  ;  and  with  a  mildness 
and  candour  which  make  us  at  once  admire  and  love 
him,  he  adverts  to  the  causes  of  his  own  disappoint- 
ment. 

"  My  father  has  spoken  to  him  as  freely  as  you  could 
desire.  He  has  urged,  that  as  far  as  the  public  good 
is  concerned,  free  competition  is  more  advantageous 


8  PATRONAGE. 

to  the  arts  and  to  artists  than  any  private  patronage 
can  be. 

"  If  the  productions  have  real  merit,  they  will  make 
their  own  way ;  if  they  had  not  merit,  they  ought  not  to 
make  their  way.  And  the  same  argument  he  has  ap- 
plied to  literary  merit,  and  to  the  merit,  generally  speak- 
ing, of  persons  as  well  as  of  things.  He  has  also  plainly 
told  Mr.  Gresham  that  he  considers  the  trade  of  a  patron 
as  one  of  the  most  thankless,  as  it  is  the  least  useful, 
of  all  trades. 

"All  this  has  made  such  an  impression  upon  your 
candid  friend,  that  he  has  declared  it  to  be  his  determi- 
nation to  have  no  more  protegees,  and  to  let  the  com- 
petition of  talents  work  fairly,  without  the  interference, 
or,  as  he  expressed  it,  any  of  the  bounties  and  drawbacks 
of  patronage.  '  But  then,'  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  '  I  am 
an  isolated  being:  am  I  to  pass  the  remainder  of  my 
days  without  objects  of  interest  or  affection?  While 
Constance  Panton  was  a  child,  she  was  an  object  to  me ; 
but  now  she  must  live  with  her  parents,  or  she  will 
marry :  at  all  events,  she  is  rich — and  is  my  wealth  to 
be  only  for  my  selfish  gratification  ?  How  happy  you 
are,  Mr.  Percy,  who  have  such  an  amiable  wife,  such  a 
large  family,  and  so  many  charming  domestic  objects 
of  affection !' 

"  Mr.  Gresham  then  walked  away  with  my  father  to 
the  end  of  the  room,  and  continued  his  conversation  in 
a  low  voice,  to  which  I  did  not  think  I  ought  to  listen, 
so  I  came  up  stairs  to  write  to  you.  I  think  you  told 
me  that  Mr.  Gresham  had  suffered  some  disappointment 
early  in  life,  which  prevented  his  marrying ;  but  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  his  mind  now  turns  again  to  the  hopes  of 
domestic  happiness.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  Rosamond 
has  made  an  impression  on  his  heart.  I  have  been  as 
conveniently  and  meritoriously  deaf,  blind,  and  stupid, 
for  some  time  past,  as  possible  ;  but  though  I  shut  my 
eyes,  and  stop  my  ears,  yet  my  imagination  will  act,  and 
I  can  only  say  to  myself,  as  we  used  to  do  when  we 
were  children — I  will  not  think  of  it  till  it  comes,  that  I 

may  have  the  pleasure  of  the  surprise. 

****** 

"  Affectionately  yours, 

"CAROLINE  PERCY." 

Caroline  was  right — Rosamond  had  made  a  great  im- 


PATRONAGE.  9 

pression  upon  Mr.  Gresham's  heart.  His  recollection 
of  the  difference  between  his  age  and  Rosamond's,  and 
his  consciousness  of  the  want  of  the  gayety  and  attrac- 
tions of  youth,  rendered  him  extremely  diffident,  and  for 
some  time  suppressed  his  passion,  at  least  delayed  the 
declaration  of  his  attachment.  But  Rosamond  seemed 
evidently  to  like  his  company  and  conversation,  and  she 
showed  that  degree  of  esteem  and  interest  for  him  which, 
he  flattered  himself,  might  be  improved  into  a  more  ten- 
der affection.  He  ventured  to  make  his  proposal — he 
applied  first  to  Mrs.  Percy,  and  entreated  that  she  would 
make  known  his  sentiments  to  her  daughter. 

When  Mrs.  Percy  spoke  to  Rosamond,  she  was  sur- 
prised at  the  very  decided  refusal  which  Rosamond  im- 
mediately gave.  Both  Mrs.  Percy  and  Caroline  were 
inclined  to  think  that  Rosamond  had  not  only  a  high 
opinion  of  Mr.  Gresham,  but  that  she  had  felt  a  prefer- 
ence for  him  which  she  had  never  before  shown  for  any 
other  person ;  and  they  thought  that,  perhaps,  some 
refinement  of  delicacy  about  accepting  his  large  fortune, 
or  some  fear  that  his  want  of  high  birth,  and  what  are 
called  good  connexions,  would  be  objected  to  by  her 
father  and  mother,  might  be  the  cause  of  this  refusal. 
Mrs.  Percy  felt  extremely  anxious  to  explain  her  own 
sentiments,  and  fully  to  understand  Rosamond's  feelings. 
In  this  anxiety  Caroline  joined  most  earnestly ;  all  the 
kindness,  sympathy,  and  ardent  affection  which  Rosa- 
mond had  ever  shown  for  her,  when  the  interests  of  her 
heart  were  in  question,  were  strong  in  Caroline's  recol- 
lection, and  these  were  now  fully  returned.  Caroline 
thought  Mr.  Gresham  was  too  old  for  her  sister ;  but 
she  considered  that  this  objection,  and  all  others,  should 
yield  to  Rosamond's  own  opinion  and  taste.  She 
agreed  with  her  mother  in  imagining  that  Rosamond 
•was  not  quite  indifferent  to  his  merit  and  to  his  attach- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Percy  began  by  assuring  Rosamond  that  she 
should  be  left  entirely  at  liberty  to  decide  according  to 
her  own  judgment  and  feelings.  "  You  have  seen,  my 
dear,  how  your  father  and  I  have  acted  towards  your 
sister;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  we  shall  show  you 
equal  justice.  Though  parents  are  accused  of  always 
rating  '  a  good  estate  above  a  faithful  lover,'  yet  you 
will  recollect  that  Mr.  Barclay's  good  estate  did  not 
A3 


10  PATRONAGE. 

induce  us  to  press  his  suit  with  Caroline.  Mr.  Gresham 
has  a  large  fortune ;  and,  to  speak  in  Lady  Jane  Gran- 
ville's  style,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  my  dear  Rosa- 
mond, that  this  would  be  a  most  advantageous  match; 
but  for  this  very  reason  we  are  particularly  desirous 
that  you  should  determine  for  yourself:  at  the  same 
time,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  a  little  surprised  by  the 
promptness  of  your  decision.  Let  me  be  sure  that  this 
negative  is  serious — let  me  be  sure  that  I  rightly  under- 
stand you,  my  love :  now,  when  only  your  own  Caro- 
line is  present,  tell  me,  what  are  your  objections  to  Mr. 
Gresham  1" 

-  Thanks  for  her  mother's  kindness  ;  thanks,  repeated, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  were  for  a  considerable  time, 
all  the  answer  that  could  be  obtained  from  Rosamond. 
At  length  she  said,  "  Without  having  any  particular 
objection  to  a  person,  surely,  if  I  cannot  love  him, 
that  is  sufficient  reason  for  my  not  wishing  to  marry 
him." 

Rosamond  spoke  these  words  in  so  feeble  a  tone,  and 
with  so  much  hesitation,  colouring  at  the  same  time  so 
much  that  her  mother  and  sister  were  still  uncertain 
how  they  were  to  understand  her  if — and  Mrs.  Percy 
replied,  "Undoubtedly,  my  dear,  if  you  cannot  love  him ; 
but  that  is  the  question.  Is  it  quite  certain  that  you 
cannot  V 

"  Oh !  quite  certain — I  believe." 

"  This  certainty  seems  to  have  come  very  suddenly," 
said  her  mother,  smiling. 

"What  can  you  mean,  mother1?" 

"  I  mean  that  you  did  not  show  any  decided  dislike 
to  him,  till  within  these  few  hours,  my  dear." 

"  Dislike  !  I  don't  feel--I  hope  I  don't  show  any  dis- 
like— I  am  sure  I  should  be  ungrateful.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  would  be  impossible  for  anybody,  who  is  good 
for  any  thing,  to  dislike  Mr.  Gresham." 

"  Then  you  can  neither  like  him  nor  dislikwhim.  You 
are  in  a  state  of  absolute  indifference." 

"  That  is,  except  gratitude — gratitude  for  all  his  kind- 
ness to  Erasmus,  and  for  his  partiality  to  me— ^gratitude 
I  certainly  feel." 

"And  esteem  1" 
"  Yes ;  to  be  sure,  esteem." 

"  And  I  think,"  continued  her  mother,  "  that  before 
he  committed  this  crime  of  proposing  for  you,  Rosa- 


PATRONAGE.  1 1 

rnond,  you  used  to  show  some  of  the  indignation  of  a 
good  friend  against  those  ungrateful  people  who  used 
him  so  ill." 

"  Indignation !  Yes,"  interrupted  Rosamond,  "  who 
could  avoid  feeling  indignation  V 

"  And  pity  ?  I  think  I  have  heard  you  express  pity 
for  poor  Mr.  Gresham." 

"  Well,  nui'am,  because  he  really  was  very  much  to 
be  pitied — don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  do — and  pity — "  said  Mrs.  Percy,  smiling. 

"  No,  indeed,  mother,  you  need  not  smile — nor  you, 
Caroline ;  for  the  sort  of  pity  which  I  feel  is  not — it 
was  merely  pity  by  itself,  plain  pity :  why  should  people 
imagine,  and  insist  upon  it,  that  more  is  felt  than  ex- 
pressed !" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  "  I  do  not  insist  upon  your 
feeling  more  than  you  really  do  ;  but  let  us  see — you 
are  in  a  state  of  absolute  indifference,  and  yet  you  feel 
esteem,  indignation,  pity — how  is  this,  Rosamond  ?  How 
can  this  be  ?" 

"Very  easily,  ma'am ;  because  by  absolute  indifference, 
I  mean — Oh!  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean — abso- 
lute indifference  as  to — " 

u  Love  perhaps,  is  the  word  which  you  cannot  pro- 
nounce this,  morning." 

"  Now,  mother !  Now,  Caroline  !  You  fancy  that  I 
love  him.  But  supposing  there  were  any  if  in  the  case 
on  my  side,  tell  me  only  why  I  should  refuse  him  ?" 

"  Nay,  my  dear,  that  is  what  we  wait  to  hear  from 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Percy. 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  why,"  said  Rosamond  :  "  in  the 
first  place,  Mr.  Gresham  has  a  large  fortune,  and  I  have 
none.  And  I  have  the  greatest  horror  of  the  idea  of 
marrying  for  money,  or  of  the  possibility  of  its  being 
suspected  that  I  might  do  so." 

"  I  thought  that  was  the  fear!"  cried  Caroline:  "but, 
my  dear  Rosamond,  with  your  generous  mind,  you 
know  it  is  quite  impossible  that  you  should  marry  from 
interested  motives." 

"Absolutely  impossible,"  said  her  mother.  "And 
when  you  ;ire  sure  of  your  own  mind,  it  would  be  weak- 
ness, my  dear,  to  dread  the  suspicions  of  others,  even 
if  such  were  likely  to  be  formed." 

"  Oh !  do  not,  my  dearest  Rosamond,"  said  Caroline, 
taking  her  sister's  hand,  pressing  it  between  hers,  and 


liJ  PATRONAGE. 

speaking  in  the  most  urgent,  almost  supplicating  tone, 
"  do  not,  generous  as  you  are,  sacrifice  your  happiness 
to  mistaken  delicacy !" 

"But,"  said  Rosamond,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  but  you  attribute  more  than  I  deserve  to  my  delicacy 
and  generosity :  I  ought  not  to  let  you  think  me  so  much 
better  than  I  really  am.  I  had  some  other  motives :  you 
will  think  them  very  foolish — very  ridiculous — perhaps 
wrong ;  but  you  are  so  kind  and  indulgent  to  me,  mother, 
that  I  will  tell  you  all  my  follies.  I  do  not  like  to  marry 
a  man  who  is  not  a  hero— you  are  very  good  not  to  laugh, 
Caroline." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  too  seriously  interested  at  present  to 
laugh,"  said  Caroline. 

"  And  you  must  be  sensible,"  continued  Rosamond, 
"  that  I  could  not,  by  any  effort  of  imagination,  or  by 
any  illusion  of  love,  convert  a  man  of  Mr.  Gresham's 
time  of  life  and  appearance,  with  his  wig,  and  sober  kind 
of  understanding,  into  a  hero." 

"  As  to  the  wig,"  replied  Mrs.  Percy,  "  you  will  re- 
collect that  both  Sir  Charles  Grandison  and  Lovelace 
wore  wigs ;  but,  my  dear,  granting  that  a  man  cannot, 
in  these  days,  be  a  hero  in  a  wig,  and  granting  that  a 
hero  cannot  or  should  not  have  a  sober  understanding, 
will  you  give  me  leave  to  ask,  whether  you  have  posi- 
tively determined  that  none  but  heroes  and  heroines 
should  live,  or  love,  or  marry,  or  be  happy  in  this  mortal 
world  V 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  said  Rosamond ;  "  particularly  as  I 
am  not  a  heroine." 

"  And  as  only  a  few  hundred  millions  of  people  in  the 
world  are  in  the  same  condition,"  added  Mrs.  Percy. 

"  And  those,  perhaps,  not  the  least  happy  of  human 
beings,"  said  Caroline.  "  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  think  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  Mr.  Gresham  has,  in  a  high  de- 
gree, one  of  the  qualities  which  ought  to  distinguish  a 
hero." 

"  What  ?"  said  Rosamond,  eagerly. 

"  Generosity,"  replied  Caroline ;  "  and  his  large  for- 
tune puts  it  in  his  power  to  show  that  quality  upon  a 
scale  more  extended  than  is  usually  allowed  even  to  the 
heroes  of  romance." 

"  True — very  true,"  said  Rosamond,  smiling :  "  gene- 
rosity might  make  a  hero  of  him  if.  he  were  not  a  mer- 


PATRONAGE.  13 

chant — a  merchant! — a  Percy  ought  not  to  marry  a 
merchant." 

"Perhaps,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  "you  don't 
know  that  half,  at  least,  of  all  the  nobility  in  England 
have  married  into  the  families  of  merchants;  therefore, 
in  the  opinion  of  half  the  nobility  of  England,  there 
can  be  nothing  discreditable  or  derogatory  in  such  an 
alliance." 

"  I  know,  ma'am,  such  things  are  ;  but  then  you  will 
allow  they  are  usually  done  for  money,  and  that  makes 
the  matter  worse.  If  the  sons  of  noble  families  marry 
the  daughters  of  mercantile  houses,  it  is  merely  to  re- 
pair the  family  fortune.  But  a  nobleman  has  great 
privileges.  If  he  marry  beneath  himself,  his  low  wife  is 
immediately  raised  by  her  wedding-ring  to  an  equality 
with  the  high  and  mighty  husband — her  name  is  for- 
gotten in  her  title — her  vulgar  relations  are  left  in  con- 
venient obscurity :  the  husband  never  thinks  of  taking 
notice  of  them ;  and  the  wife,  of  course,  may  let  it  alone 
if  she  pleases.  But  a  woman,  in  our  rank  of  life,  must 
bear  her  husband's  name,  and  must  also  bear  all  his 
relations,  be  they  ever,  so  vulgar.  Now,  Caroline,  hon- 
estly— how  should  you  like  this?" 

"  Honestly,  not  at  all,"  said  Caroline ;  "  but  as  we 
cannot  have  every  thing  we  like,  or  avoid  every  thing 
we  dislike,  in  life,  we  must  balance  the  good  against  the 
evil,  when  we  are  to  make  our  choice :  and  if  I  found 
certain  amiable,  estimable  qualities  in  a  character,  I 
think  that  I  might  esteem,  love,  and  marry  him,  even 
though  he  had  a  vulgar  name  and  vulgar  connexions.  I 
fairly  acknowledge,  however,  that  it  must  be  something 
superior  in  the  man's  character  which  could  balance  the 
objection  to  vulgarity  in  my  mind." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  Rosamond,  "do  you  be  a 
martyr  to  vulgarity  and  philosophy,  if  you  like  it — but 
excuse  me,  if  you  please.  Since  you,  who  have  so 
much  strength  of  mind,  fairly  acknowledge  that  this  ob- 
jection is  barely  to  be  overcome  by  your  utmost  efforts, 
do  me  the  favour,  do  me  the  justice,  not  to  expect  from 
me  a  degree  of  civil  courage  quite  above  my  powers." 

Caroline,  still  believing  that  Rosamond  was  only 
bringing  forward  all  the  objections  that  might  be  raised 
against  her  wishes,  replied,  "  Fortunately,  my  dear 
Rosamond,  you  are  not  called  upon  for  any  such  effort  of 
philosophy,  for  Mr.  Gresham  is  not  vulgar,  nor  is  even 


14  PATRONAGE. 

his  name  vulgar,  and  he  cannot  have  any  vulgar  rela- 
tions, because  he  has  no  relations  of  any  description — I 
heard  him  say,  the  other  day,  that  he  was  an  isolated 
being." 

"  That  is  a  comfort,"  said  Rosamond,  laughing ;  "  that 
is  a  great  thing  in  his  favour ;  but  if  he  has  not  relations, 
he  has  connexions.  What  do  you  think  of  those  hor- 
rible PantpnsT  This  instant  I  think  I  see  old  Panton 
cooling  himself — wig  pushed  back — waistcoat  unbut- 
toned— and  protuberant  Mrs.  Panton,  with  her  bay  wig 
and  artificial  flowers.  And  not  the  Pantons  only,  but 
you  may  be  sure  there  are  hordes  of  St.  Mary  Axe  cock- 
neys, that  would  pour  forth  upon  Mrs.  GresJiam,  with 
overwhelming  force,  and  with  partnership  and  old- 
acquaintance-sake  claims  upon  her  public  notice  and 
private  intimacy.  Come,  come,  my  dear  Caroline,  don't 
speak  against  your  conscience — you  know  you  never 
could  withstand  the  hordes  of  vulgarians.'1'' 

"  These  vulgarians  in  buckram,"  said  Caroline,  "have 
grown  from  two  to  two  hundred  in  a  trice,  in  your 
imagination,  Rosamond :  but  consider  that  old  Panton, 
against  whom  you  have  such  an  invincible  horror,  will, 
now  that  he  has  quarrelled  with  Erasmus,  probably  very 
soon  eat  himself  out  of  the  world ;  and  I  don't  see  that 
you  are  bound  to  Mr.  Gresham's  dead  partner's  widow 
— is  this  your  only  objection  to  Mr.  Gresham  ]" 

"  My  only  objection  !  Oh  no.!  don't  flatter  yourself 
that  in  killing  old  Panton  you  have  struck  off  all  my 
objections.  Independently  of  vulgar  relations,  or  con- 
nexions, and  the  disparity  of  age,,  my  grand  objection 
remains.  But  I  will  address  myself  to  my  mother,  for 
you  are  not  a  good  person  for  judging  of  prejudices—- 
you really  don't  understand  them,  my  dear  Caroline ; 
one  might  as  well  talk  to  Socrates.  You  go  to  work 
with  Logic,  and  get  one  between  the  horns  of  a  wicked 
dilemma  directly-r-l  will-  talk  to  my  mother;  she  under- 
stands prejudices." 

"Your  mother  thanks  you,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  smiling, 
'*  for  your  opinion  of  her  understanding." 

"  My  mother  is  the  most  indulgent  of  mothers,  and, 
besides,  the  most  candid,  and  therefore  I  know  she  will 
confess  to  me  that  she  herself  cherishes  a  little  darling 
prejudice  in  favour  of  birth  and  family,  a  leetle  prejudice 
—well  covered  by  good  nature  and  politeness — but  still 
a  secret,  invincible  antipathy  to  low  born  people." 


PATRONAGE.  IS 

"  To  low-bred  people,  I  grant." 

"  Oh,  mother !  you  are  upon  your  candour — my  dear 
mother,  not  only  low-bred,  but  low-born :  confess  you 
have  a — what  shall  I  call  it  ? — an  indisposition  towards 
low-born  people." 

"  Since  you  put  me  upon  my  candour,"  said  Mrs. 
Percy,  "  I  am  afraid  1  must  confess  that  I  am  conscious 
of  a  little  of  the  aristocratic  weakness  you  impute  to 
me." 

"Impute!  No  imputation,  in  my  opinion,"  cried 
Rosamond.  "  I  do  not  think  it  any  weakness." 

"But  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Percy — "I  consider  it  as  a 
weakness ;  and  bitterly  should  I  reproach  myself,  if  I 
saw  any  weakness,  any  prejudice  of  mine,  influence  my 
children  injuriously  in  the  most  material  circumstance 
of  their  lives,  and  where  their  happiness  is  at  stake 
So,  my  dear  Rosamond,  let  me  entreat — " 

"  Oh !  mother,  don't  let  the  tears  come  into  your 
eyes ;  and,  without  any  entreaties,  I  will  do  just  as  you 
please." 

"  My  love,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  "  I  have  no  pleasure  but 
that  you  should  please  yourself  and  judge  for  yourself, 
without  referring  to  any  prepossession  of  mine.  And 
lest  your  imagination  should  deceive  you  as  to  the  ex- 
tent of  my  aristocratic  prejudices,  let  me  explain.  The 
indisposition,  which  I  have  acknowledged  I  feel  towards 
low-born  people,  arises,  I  believe,  chiefly  from  my  taking 
it  for  granted  that  they  cannot  be  thoroughly  well-bred. 
I  have  accidentally  seen  examples  of  people  of  inferior 
birth,  who,  though  they  had  risen  to  high  station,  and 
though  they  had  acquired,  in  a  certain  degree  polite 
manners,  and  had  been  metamorphosed  by  fashion,  to  all 
outward  appearance,  into  perfect  gentry,  yet  betrayed 
some  marks  of  their  origin,  or  of  their  early  education, 
whenever  their  passions  or  their  interests  were  touched : 
then  some  awkward  gesture,  some  vulgar  expression, 
some  mean  or  mercenary  sentiment,  some  habitual  con? 
traction  of  mind,  recurred." 

"True,  true,  most  true!"  said  Rosamond.  "It  re- 
quires, two  generations,  at  least,  to  wash  out  the  stain 
of  vulgarity  :  neither  a  gentleman  nor  a  gentlewoman 
can  be  made  in  less  than  two  generations ;  therefore  I 
never  will  marry  a  low-born  man,  if  he -had  every  per- 
fection under  the  sun." 

"Nay,  my  dear,  that  is  too  strong,"  said  Mrs.  Percy. 


16  PATRONAGE. 

"  Hear  me,  my  dearest  Rosamond.  I  was  going  to  tell 
you,  that  my  experience  has  been  so  limited,  that  1  am 
not  justified  in  drawing  from  it  any  general  conclusion. 
And  even  to  the  most  positive  and  rational  general  rules 
you  know  there  are  exceptions." 

"  That  is  a  fine  general  softening  clause,"  said  Rosa- 
mond ;  "  but  now  positively,  mother,  would  you  have 
ever  consented  to  marry  a  merchant?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  your  father  had  been  a  mer- 
chant, I  should  have  married  him,"  replied  Mrs.  Percy. 

"Well,  I  except  my  father.  To  put  the  question 
more  fairly,  may  I  ask,  do  you  wish  that  your  daughter 
should  marry  a  merchant  ?" 

"  As  I  endeavoured  to  explain  to  you  before,  that 
depends  entirely  upon  what  the  merchant  is,  and  upon 
what  my  daughter  feels  for  him." 

Rosamond  sighed. 

"  I  ought  to  observe,  that  merchants  are  now  quite  in 
a  different  class  from  what  they  were  at  the  first  rise  of 
commerce  in  these  countries,"  continued  her  mother. 
"  Their  education,  their  habits  of  thinking,  knowledge, 
and  manners  are  improved,  and,  consequently,  their 
consideration,  their  rank  in  society,  is  raised.  In  our 
days,  some  of  the  best  informed,  most  liberal,  and  most 
respectable  men  in  the  British  dominions  are  merchants. 
I  could  not,  therefore,  object  to  my  daughter's  marrying 
a  merchant ;  but  I  should  certainly  inquire  anxiously 
what  sort  of  a  merchant  he  was.  I  do  not  mean  that  I 
should  inquire  whether  he  was  concerned  in  this  or  that 
branch  of  commerce,  but  whether  his  mind  was  free 
from  every  thing  mercenary  and  illiberal.  I  have 
done  so  with  respect  to  Mr.  Gresham,  and  I  can  assure 
you  solemnly,  that  Mr.  Gresham's  want  of  the  advan- 
tage of  high  birth  is  completely  counterbalanced  in  my 
opinion  by  his  superior  qualities.  I  see  in  him  a  cul- 
tivated, enlarged,  generous  mind.  I  have  seen  him 
tried,  where  his  passions  and  his  interests  have  been 
nearly  concerned,  and  I  never  saw  in  him  the  slightest 
tincture  of  vulgarity  in  manner  or  sentiment ;  therefore, 
ray  dear  daughter,  if  he  has  made  an  impression  on  your 
heart,  do  not,  on  my  account,  conceal  or  struggle  against 
it ;  because,  far  from  objecting  to  Mr.  Gresham  for  a 
son-in-law,  I  should  prefer  him  to  any  gentleman  or 
nobleman  who  had  not  his  exalted  character." 

"  There !"  cried  Caroline,  with  a  look  of  joyful  tri- 


PATRONAGE.  17 

umph,  "there!  my  dear  Rosamond,  now  your  heart 
must  be  quite  at  ease !" 

But  looking  at  Rosamond  at  this  moment,  she  saw  no 
expression  of  joy  or  pleasure  in  her  countenance  :  and 
Caroline  was  now  convinced  that  she  had  been  mistaken 
about  Rosamond's  feelings. 
"  Really  and  truly,  mother,  you  think  all  this  ?" 

"Really  and  truly,  my  dear,  no  motive  upon  earth 
would  make  me  disguise  my  opinions,  or  palliate  even 
my  prejudices,  when  you  thus  consult  me,  and  depend 
upon  my  truth.  And  now  that  I  have  said  this  much,  I 
will  say  no  more,  lest  I  should  bias  you  on  the  other 
side :  I  will  leave  you  to  your  own  feelings  and  excel- 
lent understanding." 

Rosamond's  affectionate  heart  was  touched  so  by  her 
mother's  kindness  that  she  could  not  for  some  minutes 
repress  her  tears.  When  she  recovered  her  voice,  she 
assured  her  mother  and  Caroline,  with  a  seriousness 
and  an  earnest  frankness  which  at  once  convinced  them 
of  her  truth,  that  she  had  not  the  slightest  partiality  for 
Mr.  Gresham  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  his  age  was  to  her 
a  serious  objection.  She  had  feared  that  her  friends 
might  wish  for  the  match,  and  that  being  conscious  she 
had  no  other  objection  to  make  to  Mr.  Gresham  except 
that  she  could  not  love  him,  she  had  hesitated  for  want 
of  a  better  reason,  when  her  mother  first  began  this 
cross-examination. 

Relieved  by  this  thorough  explanation,  and  by  the 
conviction  that  her  father,  mother,  and  sister  were  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  her  decision,  Rosamond  was  at 
ease,  as  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned.  But  she  still 
dreaded  to  see  Mr.  Gresham  again.  She  was  exces- 
sively sorry  to  have  given  him  pain,  and  she  feared  not 
a  little  that  in  rejecting  the  lover  she  should  lose  the 
friend. 

Mr.  Gresham,  however,  was  of  too  generous  a  char- 
acter to  cease  to  be  the  friend  of  the  woman  he  loved, 
merely  because  she  could  not  return  his  passion :  it  is 
wounded  pride,  not  disappointed  affection,  that  turns 
immediately  from  love  to  hatred. 

Rosamond  was  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  Mr.  Gre- 
sham again  at  this  time,  for  he  left  the  Hills,  and  set  out 
immediately  for  London,  where  he  was  recalled  by  news 
of  the  sudden  death  of  his  partner.  Old  Mr.  Panton  had 
been  found  dead  in  his  bed,  after  having  supped  inor- 


18  PATRONAGE. 

dinately  the  preceding  night  upon  eel-pie.  It  was 
indispensably  necessary  that  Mr.  Gresham  should  attend 
at  the  opening  of  Panton's  will,  and  Mrs.  Panton  wrote 
to  represent  this  in  urgent  terms.  Mr.  Henry  was  gone 
to  Amsterdam ;  he  had,  for  some  time  previously  to  the 
death  of  Mr.  Panton,  obtained  the  partnership's  permis- 
sion to  go  over  to  the  Dutch  merchants,  their  corres- 
pondents in  Amsterdam,  to  fill  a  situation  in  their  house, 
for  which  his  knowledge  of  the  Dutch,  French,  and 
Spanish  languages  eminently  qualified  him. 

When  Mr.  Henry  had  solicited  this  employment,  Mr. 
Gresham  had  been  unwilling  to  part  with  him,  but  had 
yielded  to  the  young  man's  earnest  entreaties,  and  to 
the  idea  that  this  change  would,  in  a  lucrative  point  of 
view,  be  materially  for  Mr.  Henry's  advantage. 

Some  apology  to  the  lovers  of  romance  may  be 
expected  for  this  abrupt  transition  from  the  affairs  of  the 
heart  to  the  affairs  of  the  counting-house — but  so  it  is 
in  real  life.  We  are  sorry,  but  we  cannot  help  it — we 
have  neither  sentiments  nor  sonnets  ready  for  every 
occasion. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LETTER    FROM   ALFRED. 

(This  appears  to  have  been  written  some  months  after  the 
vacation  spent  at  the  Hills.) 

Oh !  thoughtless  mortals,  ever  blind  to  fate, 
Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate.' 

"  You  remember,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  father,  how 
angry  we  were  some  time  ago  with  that  man,  whose 
name  I  never  would  tell  you,  tlie  man  whom  Rosamond 
called  Counsellor  Nameless,  who  snatched  a  good  point 
from  me  in  arguing  Mr.  Hauton's  cause.  This  very 
circumstance  has  been  the  means  of  introducing  me  to 
the  notice  of  three  men,  all  eminent  in  their  profession, 
and  each  with  the  same  inclination  to  serve  me,  accord- 
ing to  their  respective  powers — a  solicitor,  a  barrister, 


PATRONAGE.  18 

and  a  judge.  Solicitor  Babington — (by-the-by,  pray  tell 
Rosamond  in  answer  to  her  question  whether  there  is 
an  honest  attorney,  that  there  are  no  such  things  as 
attorneys  now  in  England — they  are  all  turned  into 
solicitors  and  agents,  just  as  every  shop  is  become  a 
warehouse,  and  every  service  a  situation) — Babington  the 
solicitor  employed  against  us  in  that  suit  a  man  who 
knows  without  practising  them  all  the  tricks  of  the 
trade,  and  who  is  a  thoroughly  honest  man,  saw  the 
trick  that  was  played  by  Nameless,  and  took  occasion 
afterward  to  recommend  me  to  several  of  his  own 
clients.  Upon  the  strength  of  this  point  briefs  appeared 
on  my  table,  day  after  day — two  guineas,  three  guineas, 
five  guineas !  comfortable  sight !  But  far  more  com- 
fortable, more  gratifying,  the  kindness  of  Counsellor 
Friend :  a  more  benevolent  man  never  existed.  I  am 
sure  the  profession  of  the  law  has  not  contracted  his 
heart,  and  yet  you  never  saw  or  can  conceive  a  man 
more  intent  upon  his  business.  I  believe  he  eats,  drinks, 
and  sleeps  upon  law  :  he  has  the  reputation,  in  conse- 
quence, of  being  one  of  the  soundest  of  our  lawyers — 
the  best  opinion  in  England.  He  seems  to  make  the 
cause  of  every  client  his  own,  and  is  as  anxious  as  if 
his  private  property  depended  on  the  fate  of  each  suit. 
He  sets  me  a  fine  example  of  labour,  perseverance,  pro- 
fessional enthusiasm,  and  rectitude.  He  is  one  of  the 
very  best  friends  a  young  lawyer  like  me  could  have ;  he 
puts  me  in  the  way  I  should  go,  and  keeps  me  in  it  by 
showing  that  it  is  not  a  matter  of  chance,  but  of  cer- 
tainty, that  this  is  the  right  road  to  fortune  and  to  fame. 
"  Mr.  Friend  has  sometimes  a  way  of  paying  a  com- 
pliment as  if  he  was  making  a  reproach,  and  of  doing  a 
favour  as  a  matter  of  course.  Just  now  I  met  him,  and 
apropos  to  some  observations  I  happened  to  make  on  a 
cause  in  which  he  is  engaged,  he  said  to  me,  as  if  he 
was  half-angry,  though  I  knew  he  was  thoroughly 
pleased,  '  Quick  parts  !  Yes,  so  I  see  you  have :  but  take 
care — in  your  profession  'tis  often  "  Most  haste,  worst 
speed:"  not  but  what  there  are  happy  exceptions, 
examples  of  lawyers,  who  have  combined  judgment 
with  wit,  industry  with  genius,  and  law  with  eloquence. 
But  these  instances  are  rare,  very  rare ;  for  the  rarity 
of  the  case  worth  studying.  Therefore  dine  with  me 
to-morrow,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to  one  of  these 
exceptions.' 


20  PATRONAGE. 

"  The  person  in  question,  I  opine,  is  the  lord  chief 
justice — and  Friend  could  not  do  me  a  greater  favour 
than  to  introduce  me  to  one  whom,  as  you  know,  I  have 
long  admired  in  public,  and  with  whom,  independently 
of  any  professional  advantage,  I  have  ardently  wished 
to  be  acquainted. 

"  I  have  been  told — I  cannot  tell  you  what — for 
here's  the  bell-man.  I  don't  wonder  '  the  choleric 
man'  knocked  down  the  postman  for  blowing  his  horn 
in  his  ear.  "  Abruptly  yours, 

"  ALFRED  PERCY." 

Alfred  had  good  reason  to  desire  to  be  acquainted 
with  this  lord  chief  justice.  Some  French  writer  says, 
"  Qu'il  faut  plier  les  grandes  ailes  de  V eloquence  pour 
enlrer  dans  un  salon."  The  chief  justice  did  so  with 
peculiar  ease.  He  possessed  perfect  conversational  tact, 
with  great  powers  of  wit,  humour,  and  all  that  felicity 
of  allusion  which  an  uncommonly  recollective  memory, 
acting  on  stores  of  various  knowledge,  can  alone  com- 
mand. He  really  conversed ;  he  did  not  merely  tell 
stories,  or  make  bon-mots,  or  confine  himself  to  the 
single  combat  of  close  argument,  or  the  flourish  of 
declamation;  but  he  alternately  folio  wed  and  led,  threw 
out  and  received  ideas,  knowing  how  to  listen  full  as 
well  as  how  to  talk,  remembering  always  Lord  Chester- 
field's experienced  maxim,  "That  it  is  easier  to  hear 
than  to  talk  yourself  into  the  good  opinion  of  your 
auditors."  It  was  not,  however,  from  policy,  but  from 
benevolence,  that  the  chief  justice  made  so  good  a 
hearer.  It  has  been  said,  and  with  truth,  that  with  him 
a  good  point  never  passed  unnoticed  in  a  public  court, 
nor  was  a  good  thing  ever  lost  upon  him  in  private  com- 
pany. Of  the  number  of  his  own  good  things  fewer  are 
in  circulation  than  might  be  expected.  The  best  con- 
versation, that  which  rises  from  the  occasion,  and 
which  suits  the  moment,  suffers  most  from  repetition. 
Fitted  precisely  to  the  peculiar  time  and  place,  the  best 
things  cannot  bear  transplanting. 

The  day  Alfred  Percy  was  introduced  to  the  chief 
justice,  the  conversation  began,  from  some  slight 
remarks  made  by  one  of  the  company,  on  the  acting  of 
Mrs.  Siddons.  A  lady  who  had  just  been  reading  the 
Memoirs  of  the  celebrated  French  actress  Mademoi- 
selle Clairon  spoke  of  the  astonishing  pains  which  she 


PATRONAGE.  21 

took  to  study  her  parts,  and  to  acquire  what  the  French 
call  Pair  noble,  continually  endeavouring,  on  the  most 
common  occasions,  when  she  was  off  the  stage,  to  avoid 
all  awkward  motions,  and  in  her  habitual  manner  to 
preserve  an  air  of  grace  and  dignity.  This  led  the 
chief  justice  to  mention  the  care  which  Lord  Chatham, 
Mr.  Pitt,  and  other  great  orators,  have  taken  to  form 
their  habits  of  speaking,  by  unremitting  attention  to  their 
language  in  private  as  well  as  in  public.  He  maintained 
that  no  man  can  speak  with  ease  and  security  in  public 
till  custom  has  brought  him  to  feel  it  as  a  moral  impos- 
sibility that  he  could  be  guilty  of  any  petty  vulgarism, 
or  that  he  could  be  convicted  of  any  capital  sin  against 
grammar. 

Alfred  felt  anxious  to  hear  the  chief  justice  further 
on  this  subject,  but  the  conversation  was  dragged  back  to 
Mademoiselle  Clairon.  The  lady  by  whom  she  was  first 
mentioned  declared  she  thought  that  all  Mademoiselle 
Clairon's  studying  must  have  made  her  a  very  unnatural 
actress.  The  chief  justice  quoted  the  answer  which 
Mademoiselle  Clairon  gave,  when  she  was  reproached 
with  having  too  much  art. — "  De  Vart !  et  que  voudroit-on 
done  quefeusse  ?  Etois-je  Andromaque  ?  Etois-je  Ph&dre?" 

Alfred  observed  that  those  who  complained  of  an 
actress's  having  too  much  art  should  rather  complain  of 
her  having  too  little — of  her  not  having  art  enough  to 
conceal  her  art. 

The  chief  justice  honoured  Alfred  by  a  nod  and  a 
smile. 

The  lady,  however,  protested  against  this  doctrine, 
and  concluded  by  confessing  that  she  always  did  and 
always  should  prefer  nature  to  art. 

From  this  commonplace  confession,  the  chief  justice, 
by  a  playful  cross-examination,  presently  made  it  appa- 
rent that  we  do  not  always  know  what  we  mean  by  art 
and  what  by  nature  ;  that  the  ideas  are  so  mixed  in  civil- 
ized society,  and  the  words  so  inaccurately  used,  both 
in  common  conversation  and  in  the  writings  of  philoso- 
phers, that  no  metaphysical  prism  can  separate  or  re- 
duce them  to  their  primary  meaning.  Next  he  touched 
upon  the  distinction  between  art  and  artifice.  The  con- 
versation branched  out  into  remarks  on  grace  and  affec- 
tation, and  thence  to  the  different  theories  of  beauty 
and  taste,  with  all  which  he  played  with  a  master's 
hand. 


5S  PATRONAGE. 

'  A  man  accustomed  to  speak  to  numbers  perceives  im- 
mediately when  his  auditors  seize  his  ideas,  and  knows 
instantly,  by  the  assent  and  expression  of  the  eye,  to 
whom  they  are  new  or  to  whom  they  are  familiar.  The 
chief  justice  discovered  that  Alfred  Percy  had  superior 
knowledge,  literature,  and  talents,  even  before  he  spoke, 
by  his  manner  of  listening.  The  conversation  presently 
passed  from  Fair  noble  to  le  style  noble,  and  to  the  French 
laws  of  criticism,  which  prohibit  the  descending  to  allu- 
sions to  arts  and  manufactures.  This  subject  he  dis- 
cussed deeply,  yet  rapidly  observed  how  taste  is  influ- 
enced by  different  governments  and  manners — remarked 
how  the  strong  line  of  demarkation  formerly  kept  in 
France  between  the  nobility  and  the  citizens  had  influ- 
enced taste  in  writing  and  in  eloquence,  and  how  our 
more  popular  government  not  only  admitted  allusions  to 
the  occupations  of  the  lower  classes,  but  required  them; 
Our  orators  at  elections,  and  in  parliament,  must  speak 
so  as  to  come  home  to  the  feelings  and  vocabulary  of 
constituents.  Examples  from  Burke  and  others,  the 
chief  justice  said,  might  be  brought  in  support  of  this 
opinion. 

Alfred  was  so  fortunate  as  to  recollect  some  apposite 
illustrations  from  Burke,  and  from  several  of  our  great 
orators,  Wyndham,  Erskine,  Mackintosh,  and  Romilly. 
As  Alfred  spoke,  the  chief  justice's  eye  brightened  with 
approbation,  and  it  was  observed  that  he  afterward 
addressed  to  him  particularly  his  conversation ;  and, 
more  flattering  still,  that  he  went  deeper  into  the  subject 
which  he  had  been  discussing.  From  one  of  the  pas- 
sages which  had  been  mentioned,  he  took  occasion  to 
answer  the  argument  of  the  French  critics,  who  justify 
their  taste  by  asserting  that  it  is  the  taste  of  the  ancients. 
Skilled  in  classical  as  in  modern  literature,  he  showed 
that  the  ancients  had  made  allusions  to  arts  and  manu- 
factures, as  far  as  their  knowledge  went;  but,  as  he 
observed,  in  modern  times  new  arts  and  sciences  afford 
fresh  subjects  of  allusion  unknown  to  the  ancients ; 
consequently  we  ought  not  to  restrict  our  taste  by 
exclusive  reverence  for  classical  precedents.  On  these 
points  it  is  requisite  to  reform  the  pandects  of  criti- 
cism. 

Another  passage  from  Burke  to  which  Alfred  had 
alluded  the  chief  justice  thought  too  rich  in  ornament. 
"  Ornaments,"  he  said,  "  if  not  kept  subordinate,  how- 


PATRONAGE.  23 

ever  intrinsically  beautiful,  injure  the  general  effect — 
therefore  a  judicious  orator  will  sacrifice  all  such  as  draw 
the  attention  from  his  principal  design." 

Alfred  Percy,  in  support  of  this  opinion,  cited  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Spanish  painter,  who  obliterated  certain 
beautiful  silver  vases,  which  he  had  introduced  in  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Lord's  Supper,  because  he  found  that  at  first 
view  every  spectator's  eye  was  caught  by  these  splen- 
did ornaments,  and  every  one  extolled  their  exquisite 
finish,  instead  of  attending  to  the  great  subject  of  the 
piece. 

The  chief  justice  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  con- 
versation of  our  young  barrister,  that,  at  parting,  he 
gave  Alfred  an  invitation  to  his  house.  The  conversa- 
tion had  been  very  different  from  what  might  have  been 
expected :  metaphysics,  belles-lettres,  poetry,  plays, 
criticism — what  a  range  of  ideas,  far  from  Coke  and 
Seldon,  was  gone  over  this  evening  in  the  course  of  a 
few  hours !  Alfred  had  reason  to  be  more  and  more 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  father's  favourite  doctrine, 
that  the  general  cultivation  of  the  understanding,  and 
the  acquirement  of  general  knowledge,  are  essential  to 
the  attainment  of  excellence  in  any  profession,  useful 
to  a  young  man  particularly  in  introducing  him  to  the 
notice  of  valuable  friends  and  acquaintance. 

An  author  well  skilled  in  the  worst  parts  of  human 
nature  has  asserted,  that  "  nothing  is  more  tiresome  than 
praises  in  which  we  have  no  manner  of  share."  Yet 
we,  who  have  a  better  opinion  of  our  kind,  trust  that 
there  are  some  who  can  sympathize  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  good  and  young  mind,  struck  with  splendid  talents, 
and  with  a  superior  character ;  therefore  we  venture  to 
insert  some  of  the  warm  eulogiums,  with  which  we  find 
our  young  lawyer's  letters  filled. 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER, 

"  I  have  only  a  few  moments  to  write,  but  cannot 
delay  to  answer  your  question  about  the  chief  justice. 
Disappointed — no  danger  of  that — he  far  surpasses  my 
expectations.  It  has  been  said  that  he  never  opened  a 
book,  that  he  never  heard  a  common  ballad,  or  saw  a 
workman  at  his  trade,  without  learning  something,  which 
he  afterward  turned  to  good  account.  This  you  may 
see  in  his  public  speeches,  but  I  am  more  completely 
Convinced  of  it  since  I  have  heard  him  converse.  His 


24  PATRONAGE. 

illustrations  are  drawn  from  the  workshop,  the  manu- 
factory, the  mine,  the  mechanic,  the  poet — from  every 
art  and  science,  from  every  thing  in  nature,  animate  or 
inanimate. 

"  '  From  gems,  from  flames,  from  orient  rays  of  light, 
The  richest  lustre  makes  his  purple  bright.' 

"  Perhaps  I  am  writing  his  panegyric  because  he 
is  my  lord  chief  justice,  and  because  I  dined  with 
him  yesterday,  and  am  to  dine  with  him  again  to- 
morrow. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"ALFRED  PERCY." 

In  a  subsequent  letter  he  shows  that  his  admiration 
increased  instead  of  diminishing,  upon  a  more  intimate 
acquaintance  with  its  object. 

"  High  station,"  says  Alfred,  "  appears  to  me  much 
more  desirable,  since  I  have  known  this  great  man.  He 
makes  rank  so  gracious,  and  shows  that  it  is  a  pleasur- 
able, not  a  'painful  pre-eminence,'  when  it  gives  the 
power  of  raising  others,  and  of  continually  doing  kind  and 
generous  actions.  Mr.  Friend  tells  me,  that  before  the 
chief  justice  was  so  high  as  he  is  now,  without  a  rival 
in  his  profession,  he  was  ever  the  most  generous  man 
to  his  competitors.  I  am  sure  he  is  now  the  most  kind 
and  condescending  to  his  inferiors.  In  company  he  is 
never  intent  upon  himself,  seems  never  anxious  about 
his  own  dignity  or  his  own  fame.  He  is  sufficiently 
sure  of  both  to  be  quite  at  ease.  He  excites  my  ambi- 
tion, and  exalts  its  nature  and  value. 

"  He  has  raised  my  esteem  for  my  profession,  by 
showing  the  noble  use  that  can  be  made  of  it,  in  defend- 
ing right  and  virtue.  He  has  done  my  mind  good  in 
another  way  :  he  has  shown  me  that  professional  labour 
is  not  incompatible  with  domestic  pleasures.  I  wish 
you  could  see  him  as  I  do,  in  the  midst  of  his  family, 
with  his  fine  children  playing  about  him,  with  his  wife, 
a  charming  cultivated  woman,  who  adores  him,  and  who 
is  his  best  companion  and  friend.  Before  I  knew  the 
chief  justice,  I  had  seen  other  great  lawyers  and  judges, 
some  of  them  crabbed  old  bachelors,  others  uneasily 
yoked  to  vulgar  helpmates — having  married  early  in  life 


PATRONAGE.  25 

women  whom  they  had  dragged  up  as  they  rose,  but 
•who  were  always  pulling  them  down, — had  seen  some 
of  these  learned  men  sink  into  mere  epicures,  and 
become  dead  to  intellectual  enjoyment — others,  with 
higher  minds,  and  originally  fine  talents,  I  had  seen  in 
premature  old  age,  with  understandings  contracted  and 
palsied  by  partial  or  overstrained  exertion,  worn  out, 
mind  and  body,  and  only  late,  very  late  in  life,  just  attain- 
ing wealth  and  honours,  when  they  were  incapable  of 
enjoying  them.  This  had  struck  me  as  a  deplorable  and 
discouraging  spectacle — a  sad  termination  of  a  life  of 
labour.  But  now  I  see  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  in  the 
full  vigour  of  all  his  intellectual  faculties  and  moral  sen- 
sibility, with  a  high  character,  fortune,  and  professional 
honours,  all  obtained  by  his  own  merit  and  exertions, 
with  the  prospect  of  health  and  length  of  days  to  enjoy 
and  communicate  happiness.  Exulting  in  the  sight  of 
this  resplendent  luminary,  and  conscious  that  it  will 
guide  and  cheer  me  forwards,  I '  bless  the  useful  light.'" 

Our  young  lawyer  was  so  honestly  enthusiastic  in  his 
admiration  of  this  great  man,  and  was  so  full  of  the  im- 
pression that  had  been  made  on  his  mind,  that  he  forgot 
in  this  letter  to  advert  to  the  advantage  which,  in  a  pro- 
fessional point  of  view,  he  might  derive  from  the  good 
opinion  formed  of  him  by  the  chief  justice.  In  conse- 
quence of  Solicitor  Babington's  telling  his  clients  the 
share  which  Alfred  had  in  winning  Colonel  Hauton's 
cause,  he  was  employed  in  a  suit  of  considerable  im- 
portance, in  which  a  great  landed  property  was  at  stake. 
It  was  one  of  those  standing  suits  which  last  from  year 
to  year,  and  which  seem  likely  to  linger  on  from  gene- 
ration to  generation.  Instead  of  considering  his  brief 
in  this  cause  merely  as  a  means  of  obtaining  a  fee,  in 
stead  of  contenting  himself  to  make  some  motion  of 
course,  which  fell  to  his  share,  Alfred  set  himself  seri- 
ously to  study  the  case,  and  searched  indefatigably  for 
all  the  precedents  that  could  bear  upon  it.  He  was  for- 
tunate enough,  or  rather  he  was  persevering  enough, 
to  find  an  old  case  in  point,  which  had  escaped  the  at- 
tention of  th«  other  lawyers.  Mr.  Friend  was  one  of 
the  senior  counsel  in  this  cause,  and  he  took  generous 
care  that  Alfred's  merit  should  not  now,  as  upon  a  for- 
mer occasion,  be  concealed.  Mr.  Friend  prevailed  upon 
his  brother  barristers  to  agree  in  calling  upon  Alfred  to 

VOL.  XV.— B 


26  PATRONAGE 

speak  to  his  own  case  in  point;  and  the  chief  justice, 
who  presided,  said,  "  This  case  is  new  to  me.  This  had 
escaped  me,  Mr.  Percy ;  I  must  take  another  day  to  re- 
consider the  matter,  before  I  can  pronounce  judgment." 
This  from  the  chief  justice,  with  the  sense  which 
Alfred's  brother  barristers  felt  of  his  deserving  such 
notice,  was  of  immediate  and  material  advantage  to  our 
young  lawyer.  Attorneys  and  solicitors  turned  their 
eyes  upon  him,  briefs  began  to  flow  in,  and  his  diligence 
increased  with  his  business.  As  junior  counsel,  he  still 
had  little  opportunity  in  the  common  course  of  things 
of  distinguishing  himself,  as  it  frequently  fell  to  his 
share  only  to  say  a  few  words  ;  but  he  never  failed  to 
make  himself  master  of  every  case  in  which  he  was 
employed.  And  it  happened  one  day,  when  the  senior 
counsel  was  ill,  the  judge  called  upon  the  next  barrister, 
s '  Mr.  Trevors,  are  you  prepared  1" 

'  My  lord — I  can't  say — no,  my  lord." 

'Mr.  Percy,  are  you  prepared!" 

'  Yes,  my  lord." 

'  So  I  thought — always  prepared  :  go  on,  sir — go  on, 
Mr.  Percy." 

He  went  on,  and  spoke  so  ably,  and  with  such  com- 
prehensive knowledge  of  the  case  and  of  the  law,  that 
he  obtained  a  decision  in  favour  of  his  client,  and  estab- 
lished his  own  reputation  as  a  man  of  business  and  of 
talents,  who  was  always  prepared.  For  the  manner  in 
which  he  was  brought  forward  and  distinguished  by  the 
chief  justice  he  was  truly  grateful.  This  was  a  species 
of  patronage  honourable  both  to  the  giver  and  the  re- 
ceiver. Here  was  no  favour  shown  disproportionate  to 
deserts,  but  here  was  just  distinction  paid  to  merit,  and 
generous  discernment  giving  talents  opportunity  of  de- 
veloping themselves.  These  opportunities  would  only 
have  been  the  ruin  of  a  man  who  could  not  show  him- 
self equal  to  the  occasion ;  but  this  was  not  the  case 
with  Alfred.  His  capacity,  like  the  fairy  tent,  seemed 
to  enlarge  so  as  to  contain  all  that  it  was  necessary  to 
comprehend :  and  new  powers  appeared  in  him  in  new 
situations. 

Alfred  had  been  introduced  by  his  brother  Erasmus  to 
some  of  those  men  of  literature  with  whom  he  had  be- 
come acquainted  at  Lady  Spilsbury's  good  dinners. 
Among  these  was  a  Mr.  Dunbar,  a  gentleman  who  had 
resided  for  many  years  in  India,  from  whom  Alfred,  who 


PATRONAGE.  27 

constantly  sought  for  information  from  all  with  whom 
he  conversed,  had  learned  much  of  India  affairs.  Mr. 
Dunbar  had  collected  some  curious  tracts  on  Moham- 
medan law,  and,  glad  to  find  an  intelligent  auditor  on  his 
favourite  subject,  a  subject  not  generally  interesting,  he 
willingly  communicated  all  he  knew  to  Alfred,  and  lent 
him  his  manuscripts  and  scarce  tracts,  which  Alfred,  in 
the  many  leisure  hours  that  a  young  lawyer  can  com- 
mand before  he  gets  into  practice,  had  studied,  and  of 
which  he  had  made  himself  master.  It  happened  a  con- 
siderable time  afterward  that  the  East  India  Company 
had  a  cause — one  of  the  greatest  causes  ever  brought 
before  our  courts  of  law — relative  to  the  demand  of  some 
native  bankers  in  Hindostan  against  the  company  for 
upwards  of  four  millions  of  rupees.  This  Mr.  Dunbar, 
who  had  a  considerable  interest  in  the  cause,  and  who 
was  intimate  with  several  of  the  directors, recommended 
it  to  them  to  employ  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  who,  as  he  knew, 
had  had  ample  means  of  information,  and  who  had  studied 
a  subject  of  which  few  of  his  brother  barristers  had  any 
knowledge.  The  very  circumstance  of  his  being  em- 
ployed in  a  cause  of  such  importance  was  of  great  ad- 
vantage to  him ;  and  the  credit  he  gained  by  accurate 
and  uncommon  knowledge  in  the  course  of  the  suit  at 
once  raised  his  reputation  among  the  best  judges,  and 
established  him  in  the  courts. 

On  another  occasion,  Alfred's  moral  character  was  as 
serviceable  as  his  literary  taste  had  been  in  recom- 
mending him  to  his  clients.  Buckhurst  Falconer  had 
introduced  him  to  a  certain  Mr.  Clay,  known  by  the 
name  of  French  Clay.  In  a  conversation  after  dinner, 
when  the  ladies  had  retired,  Mr.  Clay  had  boasted  of  his 
successes  with  the  fair  sex,  and  had  expressed  many  sen- 
timents that  marked  him  for  a  profligate  coxcomb. 

Alfred  felt  disgust  and  indignation  for  this  parade  of 
vice.  There  was  one  officer  in  company  who  strongly 
sympathized  in  his  feelings ;  this  led  to  farther  acquaint- 
ance and  mutual  esteem.  This  officer  soon  afterward 

married  Lady  Harriet ,  a  beautiful  young  woman, 

with  whom  he  lived  happily  for  some  time,  till  unfortu- 
nately, while  her  husband  was  abroad  with  his  regiment, 
chance  brought  the  wife,  at  a  watering  place,  into  the 
company  of  French  Clay,  and  imprudence,  the  love  of 
flattery,  coquetry,  and  self-confidence,  made  her  a  victim 
to  his  vanity.  Love  he  had  none — nor  she  either — but 
B2 


28  PATRONAGE. 

her  disgrace  was  soon  discovered,  or  revealed ;  and  her 
unhappy  and  almost  distracted  husband  immediately 
commenced  a  suit  against  Clay.  He  chose  Alfred  Percy 
for  his  counsel.  In  this  cause,  where  strong  feelings  of 
indignation  were  justly  roused,  and  where  there  was 
room  for  oratory,  Alfred  spoke  with  such  force  and 
pathos  that  every  honest  heart  was  touched.  The  ver- 
dict of  the  jury  showed  the  impression  which  he  had 
made  upon  them  :  his  speech  was  universally  admired ; 
and  those  who  had  till  now  known  him  only  as  a  man 
of  business,  and  a  sound  lawyer,  were  surprised  to  find 
him  suddenly  display  such  powers  of  eloquence.  Coun- 
sellor Friend's  plain  advice  to  him  had  always  been, 
"Never  harangue  about  nothing:  if  your  client  require 
it,  he  is  a  fool,  and  never  mind  him ;  never  speak  till 
you've  something  to  say,  and  then  only  say  what  you 
have  to  say. 

" '  Words  are  like  leaves,  and  where  they  most  abound, 
Much  fruit  of  solid  sense  is  seldom  found.'" 

Friend  now  congratulated  Alfred  with  all  his  honest 
affectionate  heart,  and  said,  with  a  frown  that  struggled 
hard  with  a  smile,  "  Well,  I  believe  1  must  allow  you  to 
be  an  orator.  But,  take  care — don't  let  the  lawyer 
merge  in  the  advocate.  Bear  it  always  in  mind,  that  a 
mere  man  of  words  at  the  bar — or  indeed  anywhere 
else — is  a  mere  man  of  straw." 

The  chief  justice,  who  knew  how  to  say  the  kindest 
things  in  the  most  polite  manner,  was  heard  to  observe, 
that  "  Mr.  Percy  had  done  wisely,  to  begin  by  showing 
that  he  had  laid  a  solid  foundation  of  law,  on  which  the 
ornaments  of  oratory  could  be  raised  high,  and  supported 
securely." 

French  Clay's  affair  with  Lady  Harriet  had  been  much 
talked  of  in  the  fashionable  world  ;  from  a  love  of  scan- 
dal, or  a  love  of  justice,  from  zeal  in  the  cause  of  mo- 
rality, or  from  natural  curiosity,  her  trial  had  been  a 
matter  of  general  interest  to  the  ladies,  young  and  old. 
Of  consequence  Mr.  Alfred  Percy's  speech  was  prodigi- 
ously read,  and,  from  various  motives,  highly  applauded. 
When  a  man  begins  to  rise,  all  hands — all  hands  but  the 
hands  of  his  rivals — are  ready  to  push  him  up,  and  all 
tongues  exclaim,  "  'Twas  I  helped !"  or,  "  'Twas  what 
I  always  foretold  !" 


PATRONAGE.  29 

The  Lady  Angelica  Headingham  new  bethought  her- 
self that  she  had  a  little  poem,  written  by  Mr.  Alfred 
Percy,  which  had  been  given  to  her  long  ago  by  Miss 
Percy,  and  of  which,  at  the  time  she  received  it,  her 
ladyship  had  thought  so  little,  that  hardly  deigning  to 
bestow  the  customary  tribute  of  a  compliment,  she  had 
thrown  it,  scarcely  perused,  into  her  writing-box.  It 
was  now  worth  while  to  rummage  for  it,  and  now, 
when  the  author  had  a  name,  her  ladyship  discovered 
that  the  poem  was  charming — absolutely  charming! 
Such  an  early  indication  of  talents !  Such  a  happy  prom- 
ise of  genius! — Oh!  she- had  always  foreseen  that  Mr. 
Alfred  Percy  would  make  an  uncommon  figure  in  the 
world ! 

"  Bless  me  !  does  your  ladyship  know  him  V 

"Oh  !  intimately! — That  is,  I  never  saw  him  exactly 
— but  all  his  family  I've  known  intimately — ages  ago  in 
the  country." 

"  I  should  so  like  to  meet  him !  And  do  pray  give  me 
a  copy  of  the  verses — and  me  ! — and  me !" 

To  work  went  the  pens  of  all  the  female  amateurs,  in 
scribbling  copies  of  "  The  Lawyer's  May-day" — And 
away  went  the  fair  patroness  in  search  of  the  author — 
introduced  herself  with  unabashed  grace,  invited  him 
for  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday — Engaged! 
how  unfortunate ! — Well,  for  next  week  !  a  fortnight 
hence  1  three  weeks "?  positively  she  must  have  him  at 
her  conversazione — she  must  give  him — No,  he  must 
give  her  a  day — he  must  consent  to  lose  a  day — so 
many  of  her  friends  and  real  judges  were  dying  to  see 
him." 

To  save  the  lives  of  so  many  judges,  he  consented  to 
lose  an  evening — the  day  was  fixed.  Alfred  found  her 
conversazione  very  brilliant — was  admired — and  ad- 
mired others  in  his  turn  as  much  as  was  expected.  It 
was  an  agreeable  variety  of  company  and  of  thought  to 
him,  and  he  promised  to  go  sometimes  to  her  ladyship's 
parties — a  promise  which  delighted  her  much,  particu- 
larly as  he  had  not  yet  given  a  copy  of  the  verses  to 
Lady  Spilsbury.  Lady  Spilsbury,  to  whom  the  verses 
quickly  worked  round,  was  quite  angry  that  her  friend 
Erasmus  had  not  given  her  an  early  copy ;  and  now  in- 
vitations the  most  pressing  came  from  Lady  Spilsbury 
to  her  excellent  literary  dinners.  If  Alfred  had  been  so 
disposed,  he  might,  among  these  fetchers  and  carriers 


30  PATRONAGE. 

of  bays,  have  been  extolled  to  the  skies  ;  but  he  had  too 
much  sense  and  prudence  to  lose  the  substance  for  the 
shadow,  to  sink  a  solid  character  into  a  drawing-room 
reputation.  Of  this  he  had  seen  the  folly  in  Buckhurst 
Falconer's  case,  and  now,  if  any  further  warning  on  this 
subject  had  been  wanting,  he  would  have  taken  it  from 
the  example  of  poor  Seebright,  the  poet,  whom  he  met 
the  second  time  he  went  to  Lady  Angelica  Headingham's. 
Poor  Seebright,  as  the  world  already  began  to  call  him, 
from  being  an  object  of  admiration,  was  beginning  to 
sink  into  an  object  of  pity.  Instead  of  making  himself 
independent  by  steady  exertions  in  any  respectable  pro- 
fession, instead  of  making  his  way  in  the  republic  of 
letters  by  some  solid  work  of  merit,  he  frittered  away 
his  time  among  fashionable  amateurs,  feeding  upon  their 
flattery,  and  living  on  in  the  vain  hope  of  patronage. 
Already  the  flight  of  his  genius  had  been  restrained,  the 
force  of  his  wing  impaired ;  instead  of  soaring  superior, 
he  kept  hovering  near  the  earth ;  his  "  kestrel  courage 
fell,"  he  appeared  to  be  almost  tamed  to  the  domestic 
state  to  which  he  was  reduced — yet  now  and  then  a 
rebel  sense  of  his  former  freedom,  and  of  his  present 
degradation,  would  appear.  "  Ah  !  if  I  were  but  inde- 
pendent as  you  are  !  If  I  had  but  followed  a  profession 
as  you  have  done !"  said  he  to  Alfred,  when,  apart  from 
the  crowd,  they  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing  confi- 
dentially. 

Alfred  replied  that  it  was  not  yet  too  late,  that  it  was 
never  too  late  for  a  man  of  spirit  and  talents  to  make 
himself  independent ;  he  then  suggested  to  Mr.  Seebright 
various  ways  of  employing  his  powers,  and  pointed  out 
some  useful  and  creditable  literary  undertakings,  by 
which  he  might  acquire  reputation.  Seebright  listened, 
his  eye  eagerly  catching  at  each  new  idea  the  first  mo- 
ment, the  next  turning  off  to  something  else,  raising 
objections  futile  or  fastidious,  seeing  nothing  impossible 
in  any  dream  of  his  imagination,  where  no  effort  of  ex- 
ertion was  requisite,  but  finding  every  thing  impracti- 
cable when  he  came  to  sober  reality,  where  he  was  called 
upon  to  labour.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  the  sort  of  peo- 
ple who  do  not  know  what  they  want,  or  what  they 
would  be,  who  complain  and  complain;  disappointed 
and  discontented,  at  having  sunk  below  their  powers  and 
their  hopes,  and  are  yet  without  capability  of  persever- 
ing exertion  to  emerge  from  their  obscurity  ^  Seebright 


PATRONAGE.  31 

was  now  become  an  inefficient  being,  whom  no  one 
could  assist  to  any  good  purpose.  Alfred,  after  a  long, 
mazy,  fruitless  conversation,  was  convinced  that  the 
case  was  hopeless,  and,  sincerely  pitying  him,  gave  it 
up  as  irremediable.  Just  as  he  had  come  to  this  con- 
clusion, and  had  sunk  into  silence,  a  relation  of  his, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a  considerable  time,  entered 
the  room,  and  passed  by  without  noticing  him.  She 
was  so  much  altered  in  her  appearance,  that  he  could 
scarcely  believe  he  saw  Lady  Jane  Granville  ;  she  looked 
out  of  spirits,  and  care-worn.  He  immediately  observed 
that  less  attention  was  paid  to  her  than  she  used  to  com- 
mand ;  she  had  obviously  sunk  considerably  in  import- 
ance, and  appeared  to  feel  this  keenly.  Upon  inquiry, 
Alfred  learned  that  she  had  lost  a  large  portion  of  her 
fortune  by  a  lawsuit,  which  she  had  managed,  that  is  to 
say,  mismanaged,  for  herself;  and  she  was  still  at  law 
for  the  remainder  of  her  estate,  which,  notwithstanding 
her  right  was  undoubted,  it  was  generally  supposed  that 
she  would  lose,  for  the  same  reason  that  occasioned  her 
former  failure,  her  pertinacity  in  following  her  own  ad- 
vice only.  Alfred  knew  that  there  had  been  some  mis- 
understanding between  Lady  Jane  and  his  family,  that 
she  had  been  offended  by  his  sister  Caroline  having  de- 
clined accepting  her  invitation  to  town,  and  from  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Percy  having  differed  with  her  in  opinion  as  to 
the  value  of  the  patronage  of  fashion :  she  had  also  been 
displeased  with  Erasmus  about  Sir  Amyas  Courtney. 
Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  was  convinced  that  Lady 
Jane,  whatever  her  opinions  might  be,  and  whether  mis- 
taken or  not,  had  been  actuated  by  sincere  regard  for 
his  family,  for  which  he  and  they  were  grateful ;  and 
now  was  the  time  to  show  it,  now  when  he  was  coming 
into  notice  in  the  world,  and  she  declining  in  importance. 
Therefore,  though  she  had  passed  by  him  without  re- 
cognising him,  he  went  immediately  and  spoke  to  her 
in  so  respectful  and  kind  a  manner,  paid  her  the  whole 
evening  such  marked  attention,  that  she  was  quite 
pleased  and  touched.  In  reality,  she  had  been  vexed 
with  herself  for  having  persisted  so  long  in  her  resent- 
ment ;  she  wished  for  a  fair  opportunity  for  a  reconcilia- 
tion, and  she  rejoiced  that  Alfred  thus  opened  the  way 
for  it.  She  invited  him  to  come  to  see  her  the  next 
day,  observing,  as  she  put  her  card  into  his  hand,  that 
she  no  longer  lived  in  her  fine  house  in  St.  James's- 


32  PATRONAGE. 

place.  Now  that  his  motives  could  not  be  mistaken,  he 
was  assiduous  in  his  visits ;  and  when  he  had  sufficiently 
obtained  her  confidence,  he  ventured  to  touch  upon  her 
affairs.  She,  proud  to  convince  him  of  her  abilities  as 
a  woman  of  business,  explained  her  whole  case,  and 
descanted  upon  the  blunders  and  folly  of  her  solicitors 
and  counsellors,  especially  upon  the  absurdity  of  the 
opinions  which  she  had  not  followed.  Her  cause  de- 
pended upon  the  replication  she  was  to  put  in  to  a  plea 
in  special  pleading:  she  thought  she  saw  the  way 
straight  before  her,  and  exclaimed  vehemently  against 
that  love  of  the  crooked  path  by  which  her  lawyers 
seemed  possessed. 

Without  disputing  the  legal  soundness  of  her  lady- 
ship's opinion  in  her  own  peculiar  case,  Alfred,  begin- 
ning at  a  great  distance  from  her  passions,  quietly 
undertook,  by  relating  to  her  cases  which  had  fallen 
under  his  own  knowledge,  to  convince  her  that  plain 
common  sense  and  reason  could  never  lead  her  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  rules  of  special  pleading,  or  to  the 
proper  wording  of  those  answers,  on  the  letter  of  which 
the  fate  of  a  cause  frequently  depends.  He  confessed 
to  her  that  his  own  understanding  had  been  so  shocked 
St  first  by  the  apparent  absurdity  of  the  system,  that  he 
had  almost  abandoned  the  study,  and  that  it  had  been 
only  in  consequence  of  actual  experience  that  he  had  at 
last  discovered  the  utility  of  those  rules.  She  insisted 
upon  being  also  convinced  before  she  could  submit ;  but 
as  it  is  not  quite  so  easy  as  ladies  sometimes  think  it  is 
to  teach  any  art  or  science  in  two  words,  or  to  convey 
in  a  moment,  to  the  ignorant,  the  combined  result  of 
study  and  experience,  Alfred  declined  this  task,  and 
eould  undertake  only  to  show  her  ladyship,  by  asking 
her  opinion  on  various  cases  which  had  been  decided 
in  the  courts,  that  it  was  possible  she  might  be  mistaken ; 
and  that,  however  superior  her  understanding,  a  court 
of  law  would  infallibly  decide  according  to  its  own 
rules. 

"  But,  good  heavens !  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  Lady 
Jane,  "  when,  after  I  have  paid  the  amount  of  my  bond, 
and  every  farthing  that  I  owe  a  creditor,  yet  this  rogue 
says  I  have  not,  is  not  it  a  proper  answer  that  I  owe 
him  nothing  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  this  would  be  considered  as  an  evasive 
plea  by  the  court,  or  as  a  negative  pregnant." 


PATRONAGE.  33s 

"  Oh  !  if  you  come  to  your  negative  pregnants"  cried 
Lady  Jane,  "  it  is  impossible  to  understand  you — I  give 
up  the  point." 

To  this  conclusion  it  had  been  Alfred's  object  to  bring 
her  ladyship ;  and  when  she  was  fully  convinced  of  the 
insufficient  limits  of  the  human — he  never  said  the  fe- 
male— understanding  to  comprehend  these  things  with- 
out the  aid  of  men  learned  in  the  law,  he  humbly  offered 
his  assistance  to  guide  her  out  of  that  labyrinth,  into 
which,  unwittingly  and  without  any  clew,  she  had  ven- 
tured farther  and  farther,  till  she  was  just  in  the  very 
jaws  of  nonsuit  and  ruin.  She  put  her  affairs  completely 
into  his  hands,  and  promised  that  she  would  no  further 
interfere,  even  with  her  advice ;  for  it  was  upon  this 
condition  that  Alfred  engaged  to  undertake  the  manage- 
ment of  her  cause.  Nothing  indeed  is  more  tormenting 
to  men  of  business,  than  to  be  pestered  with  the  inces- 
sant advice,  hopes  and  fears,  cautions  and  explanations, 
cunning  suggestions,  superficial  knowledge,  and  pro- 
found ignorance,  of  lady  or  gentlemen  lawyers.  Alfred 
now  begged  and  obtained  permission  from  the  court  to 
amend  the  Lady  Jane  Granville's  last  plea, — he  thence- 
forward conducted  the  business,  and  played  the  game 
of  special  pleading  with  such  strict  and  acute  attention 
to  the  rules,  that  there  were  good  hopes  the  remaining 
portion  of  her  ladyship's  fortune,  which  was  now  at 
stake,  might  be  saved.  He  endeavoured  to  keep  up  her 
spirits  and  her  patience,  for  of  a  speedy  termination  to 
the  business  there  was  no  chance.  They  had  to  deal 
with  adversaries  who  knew  how,  on  their  side,  to  pro- 
tract the  pleadings,  and  to  avoid  what  is  called  coming 
to  the  point. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  Alfred  thus  to  have  it  in 
his  power  to  assist  his  friends,  and  the  hope  of  serving 
them  redoubled  his  diligence.  About  this  time  he  was 
engaged  in  a  cause  for  his  brother's  friend  and  Rosa- 
mond's admirer,  Mr.  Gresham.  A  picture-dealer  had 
cheated  this  gentleman,  in  the  sale  of  a  picture  of  con- 
siderable value.  Mr.  Gresham  had  bargained  for  and 
bought  an  original  Guido,  wrote  his  name  on  the  back 
of  it,  and  directed  that  it  should  be  sent  to  him.  The 
painting  which  was  taken  to  his  house  had  his  name 
written  on  the  back,  but  was  not  the  original  Guido  for 
which  he  had  bargained — it  was  a  copy.  The  picture- 
dealer,  however,  and  two  respectable  witnesses,  were 
B3 


34  PATRONAGE. 

ready  to  swear  positively  that  this  was  the  identical 
picture  On  which  Mr.  Gresham  wrote  his  name — that 
they  saw  him  write  his  name,  and  heard  him  order  that 
it  should  be  sent  to  him.  Mr.  Gresham  himself  acknow- 
ledged that  the  writing  was  so  like  his  own  that  he  could 
not  venture  to  deny  that  it  was  his,  and  yet  he  could 
swear  that  this  was  not  the  picture  for  which  he  had 
bargained,  and  on  which  he  had  written  his  name.  He 
suspected  it  to  be  a  forgery ;  and  was  certain  that,  by 
some  means,  one  picture  had  been  substituted  for  an- 
other. Yet  the  defendant  had  witnesses  to  prove  that 
the  picture  never  was  out  of  Mr.  Gresham's  sight,  from 
the  time  he  bargained  for  it,  till  the  moment  when  he 
wrote  his  name  on  the  back,  in  the  presence  of  the  same 
witnesses. 

This  chain  of  evidence  they  thought  was  complete, 
and  that  it  could  not  be  broken.  Alfred  Percy,  however, 
discovered  the  nature  of  the  fraud,  and,  regardless  of  the 
boasts  and  taunts  of  the  opposite  party,  kept  his  mind 
carefully  secret,  till  the  moment  when  he  came  to  cross- 
examine  the  witnesses;  for,  as  Mr.  Friend  had  observed 
to  him,  many  a  cause  had  been  lost  by  the  impatience  of 
counsel,  in  showing  beforehand  how  it  might  certainly  be 
won.*  By  thus  revealing  the  intended  mode  of  attack, 
opportunity  is  given  to  prepare  a  defence  by  which  it 
may  be  ultimately  counteracted.  In  the  present  case, 
the  defendant,  however,  came  into  court  secure  of  vic- 
tory, and  utterly  unprepared  to  meet  the  truth,  which 
was  brought  out  full  upon  him  when  least  expected. 
The  fact  was,  that  he  had  put  two  pictures  into  the 
same  frame — the  original  in  front,  the  copy  behind  it : 
on  the  back  of  the  canvass  of  the  copy  Mr.  Gresham 
had  written  his  name,  never  suspecting  that  it  was  not 
the  original  for  which  he  bargained,  and  which  he  thought 
he  actually  held  in  his  hand.  The  witnesses,  therefore, 
swore  literally  the  truth,  that  they  saw  him  write  upon 
that  picture ;  and  they  believed  the  picture  on  which  he 
wrote  was  the  identical  picture  that  was  sent  home  to 
him.  One  of  the  witnesses  was  an  honest  man,  who 
really  believed  what  he  swore,  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
fraud,  to  which  the  other,  a  rogue  in  confederacy  with 
the  picture-dealer,  was  privy.  The  cross-examination 
of  both  was  so  ably  managed,  that  the  honest  man  was 

*See  Deinolagy.. 


PAtRONAGE.  35 

soon  made  to  perceive  and  the  rogue  forced  to  reveal 
the  truth.  Alfred  had  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  credit 
he  obtained  for  the  ability  displayed  in  this  cross- 
examination,  but  he  was  infinitely  more  gratified  by 
having  it  in  his  power  to  gain  a  cause  for  his  friend,  and 
to  restore  to  Mr.  Gresham  his  favourite  Guido. 

A  welcome  sight — a  letter  from  Godfrey  !  the  first  his 
family  had  received  from  him  since  he  left  England. 
Two  of  his  letters,  it  appears,  had  been  lost.  Alluding 
to  one  he  had  written  immediately  on  hearing  of  the 
change  in  his  father's  fortune,  he  observes,  that  he  has 
kept  his  resolution  of  living  within  his  pay ;  and,  after 
entering  into  some  other  family  details,  he  continues 
as  follows :  "  Now,  my  dear  mother,  prepare  to  hear 
me  recant  what  I  have  said  against  Lord  Oldborough. 
I  forgive  his  lordship  all  his  sins,  and  I  begin  to  believe, 
that  though  he  is  a  statesman,  his  heart  is  not  yet  quite 
ossified.  He  has  recalled  our  regiment  from  this  un- 
healthy place,  and  he  has  promoted  Gascoigne  to  be 
our  lieutenant-colonel.  I  say  that  Lord  Oldborough  has 
done  all  this,  because  I  am  sure,  from  a  hint  in  Alfred's 
last  letter,  that  his  lordship  has  been  the  prime  mover 
in  the  business.  But  not  to  keep  you  in  suspense  about 
the  facts. 

"  In  my  first  letter  to  my  father,  I  told  you,  that  from 
the  moment  our  late  lethargic  lieutenant-colonel  came 
to  the  island,  he  took  to  drinking  rum,  pure  rum,  to 
waken  himself — claret,  port,  and  madeira  had  lost  their 
power  over  him.  Then  came  brandy,  which  he  fancied 
was  an  excellent  preservative  against  the  yellow  fever, 
and  the  fever  of  the  country.  So  he  died  '  boldly  by 
brandy.'  Poor  fellow !  he  was  boasting  to  me,  the  last 
week  of  his  existence,  when  he  was  literally  on  his 
deathbed,  that  his  father  taught  him  to  drink  before  he 
was  six  years  old,  by  practising  him  every  day  after 
dinner  in  the  sublime  art  of  carrying  a  bumper  steadily 
to  his  lips.  He  moreover  boasted  to  me,  that  when  a 
boy  of  thirteen,  at  an  academy,  he  often  drank  two  bot- 
tles of  claret  at  a  sitting ;  and  that,  when  he  went  into 
the  army,  getting  among  a  jolly  set,  he  brought  himself 
never  to  feel  the  worse  for  any  quantity  of  wine.  I 
don't  know  what  he  meant  by  the  worse  for  it — at  forty- 
five,  when  I  first  saw  him,  he  had  neither  head  nor  hand 
left  for  himself  or  his  country.  His  hand  shook  so,  that 
if  he  had  been  perishing  with  thirst,  he  could  not  have 


36  PATRONAGE, 

carried  a  glass  to-  his  lips,  till  after  various  attempts  in 
all  manner  of  curves  and  zigzags  spilling  half  of  it  by 
the  way.  It  was  really  pitiable  to  see  him — when  he 
was  to  sign  his  name  I  always  went  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  Gascoigne  to  guide  his  hand.  More  helpless 
still  his  mind  than  his  body.  If  his  own  or  England's 
salvation  had  depended  upon  it,  he  could  not,  when  in 
the  least  hurried,  have  uttered  a  distinct  order,  have 
dictated  an  intelligible  letter ;  or,  in  time  of  need,  have 
recollected  the  name  of  any  one  of  his  officers,  or  even 
his  own  name — quite  imbecile  and  imbruted.  But, 
peace  to  his  ashes — or  rather  to  his  dregs — and  may 
there  never  be  such  another  British  colonel ! 

"  Early  habits  of  temperance  have  not  only  saved  my 
life,  but  made  my  life  worth  saving.  Neither  Colonel 
Gascoigne  nor  I  have  ever  had  a  day's  serious  illness 
since  we  came  to  the  island — but  we  are  the  only  two 
that  have  escaped.  Partly  from  the  colonel's  example, 
and  partly  from  their  own  inclination,  all  the  other  offi- 
cers have  drunk  hard.  Lieutenant  R is  now  ill  of 

the  fever ;  Captain  H (I  beg  his  pardon),  now  Major 

H ,  will  soon  follow  the  colonel  to  the  grave,  unless 

he  takes  my  very  disinterested  advice,  and  drinks  less. 

I  am  laughed  at  by  D and  V and  others  for  this ; 

they  ask  why  the  deuse  I  can't  let  the  major  kill  himself 
his  own  way,  and  as  fast  as  he  pleases,  when  I  should  get 
on  a  step  by  it,  and  that  step  such  a  great  one.  They  say 
none  but  a  fool  would  do  as  I  do,  and  I  think  none  but 
a  brute  could  do  otherwise — I  can't  stand  by  with  any 
satisfaction,  and  see  a  fellow-creature  killing  himself 
by  inches,  even  though  I  have  the  chance  of  slipping 
into  his  shoes :  I  am  sure  the  shoes  would  pinch  me 
confoundedly.  If  it  is  my  brother  officer's  lot  to  fall  in 
battle,  it's  very  well — I  run  the  same  hazard — he  dies, 
as  he  ought  to  do,  a  brave  fellow ;  but  to  stand  by,  and 
see  a  man  die  as  he  ought  not  to  do,  and  die  what  is 

called  an  honest  fellow ! — I  can't  do  it.  H at  first  had 

a  great  mind  to  run  me  through  the  body;  but,  poor 
man,  he  is  now  very  fond  of  me,  and  if  any  one  can 
keep  him  from  destroying  himself,  I  flatter  myself  I 
shall. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  to  dear  Caroline  for  her  letter, 
and  to  Rosamond  for  her  journal.  They,  who  have 
never  been  an  inch  from  home,  cannot  conceive  how 
delightful  it  is,  at  such  a  distance,  to  receive  letters 


PATRONAGE.  37 

from  our  friends.  You  remember,  in  Cook's  voyage, 
his  joy  at  meeting  in  some  distant  island  with  the  spoon 
marked  London. 

"  I  hope  you  received  my  letters  Nos.  1  and  2.  Not 
that  there  was  any  thing  particular  in  them.  You  know 
I  never  do  more  than  tell  the  bare  facts — not  like  Rosa- 
mond's journal — with  which,  by-the-by,  Gascoigne  has 
fallen  in  love.  He  sighs,  and  wishes  that  Heaven  had 
blessed  him  with  such  a  sister — for  sister  read  wife. 
I  hope  this  will  encourage  Rosamond  to  write  again 
immediately.  No ;  do  not  tell  what  I  have  just  said 
about  Gascoigne,  for — who  knows  the  perverse  ways 
of  women  1 — perhaps  it  might  prevent  he*  from  writing 
to  me  at  all.  You  may  tell  her,  in  general,  that  it  is  my 
opinion  ladies  always  write  better  and  do  every  thing 
better  than  men — except  fight,  which  Heaven  forbid 
they  should  ever  do  in  public  or  private  ! 

"  I  am  glad  that  Caroline  did  not  marry  Mr.  Barclay, 
since  she  did  not  like  him  ;  but  by  all  accounts  he  is  a 
sensible,  worthy  man,  and  I  give  my  consent  to  his 
marriage  with  Lady  Mary  Pembroke,  though,  from 
Caroline's  description,  I  became  half  in  love  with  her 
myself. — N.B.  I  have  not  been  in  love  above  six  times 
since  I  left  England,  and  but  once  any  thing  to  signify. 
How  does  the  Marchioness  of  Twickenham  go  on  ? 

"  Affectionate  duty  to  my  father,  and  love  to  all  the 
happy  people  at  home. 

"  Dear  mother, 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  G.  PERCY." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
LETTER  FROM  ALFRED  TO  CAROLINE. 

"  MY  DEAR  CAROLINE. 

"  I  AM  going  to  surprise  you — I  know  it  is  the  most 
imprudent  thing  a  story-teller  can  do  to  give  notice  or 
promise  of  a  surprise ;  but  you  see  I  have  such  confi- 
dence at  this  moment  in  my  fact,  that  I  hazard  this  im- 
prudence. Who  do  you  think  I  have  seen!  Guess— 


88  PATRONAGE. 

guess  all  round  the  breakfast-table — father,  mother, 
Caroline,  Rosamond — I  defy  you  all — ay,  Rosamond, 
even  you,  with  all  your  capacity  for  romance ;  the 
romance  of  real  life  is  beyond  all  other  romances — its 
coincidences  beyond  the  combinations  of  the  most  in- 
ventive fancy — even  of  yours,  Rosamond.  Granted — 
go  on.  Patience,  ladies,  if  you  please,  and  don't  turn 
over  the  page,  or  glance  to  the  end  of  my  letter  to  sat- 
isfy your  curiosity,  but  read  fairly  on,  says  my  father. 

"You  remember,  I  hope,  the  Irishman,  O'Brien,  to 
whom  Erasmus  was  so  good,  and  whom  Mr.  Gresham, 
kind  as  he  always  is,  took  for  his  porter :  when  Mr 
Gresham  set  off  last  week  for  Amsterdam,  he  gave  this 
fellow  leave  to  go  home  to  his  wife,  who  lives  at  Green- 
wich. This  morning,  the  wife  came  to  see  my  honour 
to  speak  to  me,  and  when  she  did  see  me  she  could  not 
speak,  she  was  crying  so  bitterly ;  she  was  in  the  great- 
est distress  about  her  husband :  he  had,  she  said,  in  go- 
ing to  see  her,  been  seized  by  a  press-gang,  and  put  on 
board  a  tender  now  on  the  Thames.  Moved  by  the  poor 
Irishwoman's  agony  of  grief  and  helpless  state,  I  went 
to  Greenwich,  where  the  tender  was  lying,  to  speak  to 
the  captain,  to  try  to  obtain  O'Brien's  release.  But  upon 
my  arrival  there,  I  found  that  the  woman  had  been  mis- 
taken in  every  point  of  her  story.  In  short,  her  husband 
was  not  on  board  the  tender,  had  never  been  pressed, 
and  had  only  staid  away  from  home  the  preceding 
night,  in  consequence  of  having  met  with  the  captain's 
servant,  one  of  his  countrymen,  from  the  county  of  Lei- 
trim  dear,  who  had  taken  him  home  to  treat  him,  and  had 
kept  him  all  night  to  sing,  '  St.  Patrick's  day  in  the 
morning,'  and  to  drink  a  good  journey,  and  a  quick  pas- 
sage, across  the  salt  water  to  his  master,  which  he  could 
not  refuse.  While  I  was  looking  at  my  watch,  and  re- 
gretting my  lost  morning,  a  gentleman,  whose  servant 
had  really  been  pressed,  came  up  to  speak  to  the  cap- 
tain, who  was  standing  beside  me.  The  gentleman  had 
something  striking  and  noble  in  his  whole  appearance  ; 
but  his  address  and  accent,  which  were  those  of  a 
foreigner,  did  not  suit  the  fancy  of  my  English  captain, 
who,  putting  on  the  surly  air  with  which  he  thought  it 
for  his  honour  and  for  the  honour  of  his  country  to  re- 
ceive a  Frenchman,  as  he  took  this  gentleman  to  be, 
replied  in  the  least  satisfactory  manner  possible,  and  in 
the  short  language  of  some  seamen, '  Your  footman's  an 


PATRONAGE.  39 

Englishman,  sir;  has  been  pressed  for  an  able-bodied 
seaman,  which  I  trust  he'll  prove ;  he's  aboard  the  tender, 
and  there  he  will  remain.'  The  foreigner,  who,  notwith- 
standing the  politeness  of  his  address,  seemed  to  have  a 
high  spirit,  and  to  be  fully  sensible  of  what  was  due  from 
others  to  him  as  well  as  from  him  to  them,  replied  with 
temper  and  firmness.  The  captain,  without  giving  any 
reasons,  or  attending  to  what  was  said,  reiterated,  '  I  am 
under  orders,  sir ;  I  am  acting  according  to  my  orders — 
1  can  do  neither  more  nor  less.  The  law  is  as  I  tell 
you,  sir.' 

"  The  foreigner  bowed  submission  to  the  law,  but  ex- 
pressed his  surprise  that  such  should  be  law  in  a  land  of 
liberty.  With  admiration  he  had  heard,  that,  by  the 
English  law  and  British  constitution,  the  property  and 
personal  liberty  of  the  lowest,  the  meanest  subject 
could  not  be  injured  or  oppressed  by  the  highest  noble- 
man in  the  realm,  by  the  most  powerful  minister,  even 
by  the  king  himself.  He  had  always  been  assured  that 
the  king  could  not  put  his  hand  into  the  purse  of  the 
subject,  or  take  from  him  to  the  value  of  a  single  penny ; 
that  the  sovereign  could  not  deprive  the  meanest  of  the 
people  unheard,  untried,  nncondemned,  of  a  single  hour 
of  his  liberty,  or  touch  a  hair  of  his  head  ;  he  had  always, 
on  the  Continent,  heard  it  the  boast  of  Englishmen,  that 
when  even  a  slave  touched  English  ground  he  became 
free:  'Yet  now,  to  my  astonishment,'  pursued  the 
foreigner,  '  what  do  I  see  ! — a  free-born  British  subject 
returning  to  his  native  land,  after  an  absence  of  some 
years,  unoffending  against  any  law,  innocent,  unsuspected 
of  all  crime,  a  faithful  domestic,  an  excellent  man,  pre- 
vented from  returning  to  his  family  and  his  home,  put 
on  board  a  king's  ship,  unused  to  hard  labour,  condemned 
to  work  like  a  galley  slave,  doomed  to  banishment,  per- 
haps to  death ! — Good  heavens !  In  all  this  where  is 
your  English  liberty  ?  Where  is  English  justice,  and 
the  spirit  of  your  English  law  V 

"  'And  who  the  devil  are  you,  sir?'  cried  the  captain, 
'  who  seem  to  know  so  much  and  so  little  of  English 
law?' 

"  '  My  name,  if  that  be  of  any  consequence,  is  Count 
Albert  Altenberg.' 

"  (Well,  Caroline,  you  are  surprised. — '  No,'  says 
Rosamond  ;  '  I  guessed  it  was  he,  from  the  first  moment 
I  heard  he  was  a  foreigner,  and  had  a  noble  air,') 


40  PATRONAGE. 

"  '  Altenberg,'  repeated  the   captain ;   '  that's  not  a 
French  name : — why,  you  are  not  a  Frenchman  !' 
"  '  No,  sir — a  German.' 

" '  Ah  ha !'  cried  the  captain,  suddenly  changing  his 
tone,  '  I  thought  you  were  not  a  Frenchman,  or  you 
could  not  talk  so  well  of  English  law,  and  feel  so  much 
for  English  liberty  ;  and  now  then,  since  that's  the  case, 
I'll  own  to  you  frankly,  that  in  the  main  I'm  much  of 
your  mind — and  for  my  own  particular  share,  I'd  as  lieve 
the  admiralty  had  sent  me  to  hell  as  have  ordered  me  to 
press  on  the  Thames.  But  my  business  is  to  obey  or- 
ders— which  I  will  do,  by  the  blessing  of  God — so  good 
morning  to  you.  As  to  law,  and  justice,  and  all  that, 
talk  to  him,  said  the  captain,  pointing  with  his  thumb 
over  his  left  shoulder  to  me  as  he  walked  off  hastily." 

"  '  Poor  fellow !'  said  I ;  '  this  is  the  hardest  part  of  a 
British  captain's  duty,  and  so  he  feels  it.' 

"  '  Duty !'  exclaimed  the  count — '  duty  !  pardon  me 
for  repeating  your  word — but  can  it  be  his  duty  ?  I  hope 
I  did  not  pass  proper  bounds  in  speaking  to  him ;  but 
now  he  is  gone,  I  may  say  to  you,  sir — to  you,  who,  if  I 
may  presume  to  judge  from  your  countenance,  sympa- 
thize in  my  feelings — this  is  a  fitter  employment  for  an 
African  slave-merchant  than  for  a  British  officer.  The 
whole  scene  which  I  have  just  beheld  there  on  the 
river,  on  the  banks,  the  violence,  the  struggles  I  have  wit- 
nessed there,  the  screams  of  the  women  and  children, — it 
is  not  only  horrible,  but  in  England  incredible  !  Is  it  not 
like  what  we  have  heard  of  on  the  coast  of  Africa  with 
detestation — what  your  humanity  has  there  forbidden — 
abolished  T  And  is  it  possible  that  the  cries  of  those 
negroes  across  the  Atlantic  can  so  affect  your  philan- 
thropists' imaginations,  while  you  are  deaf  or  unmoved 
by  these  cries  of  your  countrymen,  close  to  your  me- 
tropolis, at  your  very  gates !  1  think  I  hear  them  still,' 
said  the  count,  with  a  look  of  horror.  '  Such  a  scene  I 
never  before  beheld  1  I  have  seen  it — and  yet  I  cannot 
believe  that  I  have  seen  it  in  England.* 

"  I  acknowledged  that  the  sight  was  terrible ;  I  could 
not  be  surprised  that  the  operation  of  pressing  men  for 
the  sea  service  should  strike  a  foreigner  as  inconsistent 
with  the  notion  of  English  justice  and  liberty,  and  I  ad- 
mired the  energy  and  strength  of  feeling  which  the 
count  showed ;  but  I  defended  the  measure  as  well  as  I 
could,  on  the  plea  of  necessity.. 


PATRONAGE.  4 1 

" '  Necessity !'  said  the  count :  '  pardon  me  if  I  remind 
you  that  necessity  is  the  tyrant's  plea.' 

"  I  mended  my  plea,  and  changed  necessity  into  utility 
— general  utility.  It  was  essential  to  England's  defence 
— to  her  existence — she  could  not  exist  without  her 
navy,  and  her  navy  could  not  be  maintained  without  a 
press-gang — as  I  was  assured  by  those  who  were  skilled 
in  naval  affairs. 

"  The  count  smiled  at  my  evident  consciousness  of  the 
weakness  of  my  concluding  corollary,  and  observed  that, 
by  my  own  statement,  the  whole  argument  depended  on 
the  assertions  of  those  who  maintained  that  a  navy  could 
not  exist  without  a  press-gang.  He  urged  this  no  fur- 
ther, and  I  was  glad  of  it ;  his  horses  and  mine  were  at 
this  moment  brought  up,  and  we  both  rode  together  to 
town. 

"  I  know  that  Rosamond,  at  this  instant,  is  gasping 
with  impatience  to  hear  whether  in  the  course  of  this 
ride  I  spoke  of  M.  de  Tourville — and  the  shipwreck.  I 
did — but  not  of  Euphrosyne :  upon  that  subject  I  could 
not  well  touch.  He  had  heard  of  the  shipwreck,  and  of 
the  hospitality  with  which  the  sufferers  had  been  treated 
by  an  English  gentleman,  and  he  was  surprised  and 
pleased  when  I  told  him  that  I  was  the  son  of  that  gen- 
tleman. Of  M.  de  Tourville  the  count,  I  fancy,  thinks 
much  the  same  as  you  do.  He  spoke  of  him  as  an  in- 
triguing diplomatist,  of  quick  talents,  but  of  a  mind  in- 
capable of  any  thing  great  or  generous.  The  count 
went  on  from  speaking  of  M.  de  Tourville  to  some  of 
the  celebrated  public  characters  abroad,  and  to  the  poli- 
tics and  manners  of  the  different  courts  and  countries 
of  Europe.  For  so  young  a  man,  he  has  seen  and  re- 
flected much.  He  is  indeed  a  very  superior  person,  as 
he  convinced  me  even  in  this  short  ride.  You  know 
that  Dr.  Johnson  says,  '  that  you  cannot  stand  for  five 
minutes  with  a  great  man  under  a  shed,  waiting  till  a 
shower  is  over,  without  hearing  him  say  something  that 
another  man  could  not  say.'  But  though  the  count  con- 
versed with  me  so  well  and  so  agreeably,  I  could  see 
that  his  mind  was,  from  time  to  time,  absent  and  anx- 
ious ;  and  as  we  came  into  town,  he  again  spoke  of  the 
press-gang,  and  of  his  poor  servant — a  faithful  attached 
servant,  he  called  him,  and  I  am  sure  the  count  is  a  good 
master,  and  a  man  of  feeling.  He  had  offered  money  to 
obtain  the  man's  release  in  vain.  A  substitute  it  was  at 


42  PATRONAGE. 

this  time  difficult  to  find — the  count  was  but  just  arrived 
in  London,  had  not  yet  presented  any  of  his  numerous 
letters  of  introduction;  he  mentioned  the  names  of  some 
of  the  people  to  whom  these  were  addressed,  and  he 
asked  me  whether  application  to  any  of  them  could  be 
of  service.  But  none  of  his  letters  were  to  any  of  the 
men  now  in  power.  Lord  Oldborough  was  the  only 
person  I  knew  whose  word  would  be  law  in  this  case, 
and  I  offered  to  go  with  him  to  his  lordship.  This  I 
ventured,  my  dear  father,  because  I  wisely — yes,  wisely, 
as  you  shall  see,  calculated  that  the  introduction  of  a 
foreigner,  fresh  from  the  Continent,  and  from  that 
court  where  Cunningham  Falconer  is  now  resident 
envoy,  would  be  agreeable,  and  might  be  useful  to  the 
minister. 

"  My  friend  Mr.  Temple,  who  is  as  obliging  and  as 
much  my  friend  now  he  is  secretary  to  the  great  man  as 
he  was  when  he  was  a  scrivening  nobody  in  his  garret, 
obtained  audience  for  us  directly.  I  need  not  detail — 
indeed  I  have  not  time — graciously  received — count's 
business  done  by  a  line — Temple  ordered  to  write  to 
admiralty ;  Lord  Oldborough  seemed  obliged  to  me  for 
introducing  the  count — I  saw  he  wished  to  have  some 
private  conversation  with  him — rose,  and  took  my  leave. 
Lord  Oldborough  paid  me  for  my  discretion  on  the  spot 
by  a  kind  look — a  great  deal  from  him — and  following 
me  to  the  door  of  the  antechamber,  '  Mr.  Percy,  I  can- 
not regret  that  you  have  followed  your  own  independent 
professional  course — I  congratulate  you  upon  your  suc- 
cess— I  have  heard  of  it  from  many  quarters,  and  always, 
believe  me,  with  pleasure,  on  your  father's  account,  and 
on  your  own.' 

"  Next  day  I  found  on  my  table,  when  I  came  from 
the  courts,  the  count's  card— when  I  returned  his  visit, 
Commissioner  Falconer  was  with  him  in  close  converse 
— confirmed  by  this  in  opinion  that  Lord  Oldborough  is 
sucking  information — I  mean,  political  secrets — out  of 
the  count.  The  commissioner  could  not,  in  common 
decency,  help  being  '  exceedingly  sorry  that  he  and  Mrs. 
Falconer  had  seen  so  little  of  me  of  late,'  nor  could  he 
well  avoid  asking  me  to  a  concert,  to  which  he  invited 
the  count,  for  the  ensuing  evening.  As  the  count  prom- 
ised to  go,  so  did  I,  on  purpose  to  meet  him.  Adieu, 
dearest  Caroline. 

"  Most  affectionately  yours, 

"ALFRED  PERCY." 


PATRONAGE.  43 

To  give  an  account  of  Mrs.  Falconers  concert  in 
fashionable  style,  we  should  inform  the  public  that  Dr. 
Mudge  for  ever  established  his  fame  in  "  Buds  of  Roses ;" 
and  Miss  La  Grande  was  astonishing,  absolutely  aston- 
ishing, in  "  Frenar  vorrei  le  lagrime" — quite  in  Catalani's 
best  manner ;  but  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  was  divine 
in  "  O  Giove  omnipotente"  and  quite  surpassed  herself  in 
"  Quanta  O  quanta  e  amor  possente,"  in  which  Dr.  Mudge 
was  also  capital :  indeed  it  would  be  doing  injustice  to 
this  gentleman's  powers  not  to  acknowledge  the  univer- 
sality of  his  genius. 

Perhaps  our  readers  may  not  feel  quite  satisfied  with 
this  general  eulogium,  and  may  observe,  that  all  this 
might  have  been  learned  from  the  newspapers  of  the  day. 
Then  we  must  tell  things  plainly  and  simply,  but  this 
will  not  sound  nearly  so  grand,  and  letting  the  public 
behind  the  scenes  will  destroy  all  the  stage  effect  and 
illusion.  Alfred  Percy  went  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  unfash- 
ionably  early,  in  hopes  that,  as  Count  Altenberg  dined 
there,  he  might  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  conversation 
with  him  before  the  musical  party  should  assemble.  In 
this  hope  Alfred  was  mistaken.  He  found  in  the  great 
drawing-room  only  Mrs.  Falconer  and  two  other  ladies, 
whose  names  he  never  heard,  standing  round  the  fire ; 
the  unknown  ladies  were  in  close  and  eager  converse 
about  Count  Altenberg.  "  He  is  so  handsome — so  po- 
lite— so  charming!" — "He  is  very  rich — has  immense 
possessions  abroad,  has  not  he 1" — "  Certainly,  he  has  a 
fine  estate  in  Yorkshire." — "  But  when  did  he  come  to 
England  V — "  How  long  does  he  stay  1" — "  15,OOOZ.,  no, 
20,0001.  per  annum." — "  Indeed  !" — "  Mrs.  Falconer,  has 
not  Count  Altenberg  20,0002.  a  year  1" 

Mrs.  Falconer,  seemingly  uninterested,  stood  silent, 
looking  through  her  glass  at  the  man  who  was  lighting 
the  argand  lamps.  "  Really,  my  dear,"  answered  she, 
"  I  can't  say — I  know  nothing  of  Count  Altenberg — 
Take  care !  that  argand ! — He's  quite  a  stranger  to 
us — the  commissioner  met  him  at  Lord  Oldborough's, 
and  on  Lord  Oldborough's  account,  of  course — Vigor,  we 
must  have  more  light,  Vigor — wishes  to  pay  him  atten- 
tion— But  here's  Mr.  Percy,"  continued  she,  turning 
to  Alfred,  "  can,  I  dare  say,  tell  you  all  about  these 
things.  I  think  the  commissioner  mentioned  that  it 
was  you,  Mr.  Percy,  who  introduced  the  count  to  Lord 
Oldborough." 


44  PATRONAGE. 

The  ladies  immediately  fixed  their  surprised  and 
inquiring  eyes  upon  Mr.  Alfred  Percy — he  seemed  to 
grow  in  an  instant  several  feet  in  their  estimation ;  but  he 
shrank  again  when  he  acknowledged  that  he  had  merely 
met  Count  Altenberg  accidently  at  Greenwich — that  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  count's  estate  in  Yorkshire,  or  of 
his  foreign  possessions,  and  was  utterly  incompetent 
to  decide  whether  he  had  10,000/.  or  20,OOOZ.  per  an- 
num. 

"  That's  very  odd !"  said  one  of  the  ladies.  "  But  this 
much  I  know,  that  he  is  passionately  fond  of  music,  for 
he  told  me  so  at  dinner." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  he  will  be  charmed  to-night  with 
Miss  Georgiana,"  said  the  confidants. 

"  But  what  signifies  that,"  replied  the  other  lady,  "  if 
he  has  not — " 

"  Mr.  Percy,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  I  have 
never  seen  you  since  that  sad  affair  of  Lady  Harriet 

H and  Lewis  Clay ;"  and  putting  her  arm  within 

Alfred's  she  walked  him  away,  talking  over  the  affair, 
and  throwing  in  a  proper  proportion  of  compliment.  As 
she  reached  the  folding  doors,  at  the  farthest  end  of  the 
room,  she  opened  them. 

.  "I  have  a  notion  the  young  people  are  here."  She 
introduced  him  into  the  music-room.  Miss  Georgiana 
Falconer,  at  the  piano  forte,  with  performers,  composers, 
masters,  and  young  ladies,  all  with  music-books  round 
her,  sat  high  in  consultation,  which  Alfred's  appearance 
interrupted — a  faint  struggle  to  be  civil — an  insipid  ques- 
tion or  two  was  addressed  to  him.  "  Fond  of  music, 
Mr.  Percy  *  Captain  Percy,  I  think  likes  music  1  You 
expect  Captain  Percy  home  soon  V 

Scarcely  listening  to  his  answers,  the  young  ladies 
soon  resumed  their  own  conversation,  forgot  his  exist- 
ence, and  went  on  eagerly  with  their  own  affairs. 

As  they  turned  over  their  music-books,  Alfred,  for 
some  minutes,  heard  only  the  names  of  La  Tour,  Win- 
ter, Von  Esch,  Lanza,  Portugallo,  Mortellari,  Guglielmi, 
Sacchini,  Sarti,  Paisiello,  pronounced  by  male  and  female 
voices  in  various  tones  of  ecstasy  and  of  execration. 
Then  there  was  an  eager  search  for  certain  favourite 
duets,  trios,  and  sets  of  cavatinas.  Next  he  heard,  in 
rapid  succession,  the  names  of  Tenducci,  Pachierotti, 
Marchesi,  Viganoni,  Braham,  Gabrielli,  Mara,  Banti, 
Grassini,  Billington,  Catalani.  Imagine  our  young 


PATRONAGE.  45 

barrister's  sense  of  his  profound  ignorance,  while  he 
heard  the  merits  of  all  dead  and  living  composers,  sing- 
ers, and  masters  decided  upon  by  the  Miss  Falconers. 
By  degrees  he  began  to  see  a  little  through  the  palpable 
obscure  by  which  he  had  at  first  felt  himself  sur- 
rounded :  he  discerned  that  he  was  in  a  committee  of 
the  particular  friends  of  the  Miss  Falconers,  who  were 
settling  what  they  should  sing  and  play.  All,  of  course, 
were  flattering  the  Miss  Falconers,  and  abusing  their 
absent  friends,  those  especially  who  were  expected  to 
bear  a  part  in  this  concert ;  for  instance — "  Those  two 
eternal  Miss  Byngs,  with  voices  like  cracked  bells,  and 
with  their  old-fashioned  music,  Handel,  Corelli,  and 
Pergolesi,  horrid  ! — And  odious  little  Miss  Crotch,  who 
has  science  but  no  taste,  execution  but  no  expression !" 
Here  they  talked  a  vast  deal  about  expression.  Alfred 
did  not  understand  them,  and  doubted  whether  they 
understood  themselves.  "  Then  her  voice !  how  people 
can  call  it  fine  ! — powerful,  if  you  will — but  over- 
powering! For  my  part,  I  can't  stand  it,  can  you? — 
Everybody  knows  an  artificial  shake,  when  good,  is 
far  superior  to  a  natural  shake.  As  to  the  Miss  Barbaras, 
the  eldest  has  no  more  ear  than  the  table,  and  the 
youngest  such  a  thread  of  a  voice  !" 

"  But,  mamma,"  interrupted  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer, 
"  are  the  Miss  La  Grandes  to  be  here  to-night  1" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear — you  know  I  could  not  avoid 
asking  the  Miss  La  Grandes." 

"  Then  positively,"  cried  Miss  Georgiana,  her  whole 
face  changing,  and  ill-humour  swelling  in  every  feature, 
"  then,  positively,  ma'am,  I  can't  and  won't  sing  a 
note !" 

"  Why,  my  dear  love,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  surely 
you  don't  pretend  to  be  afraid  of  the  Miss  La  Grandes  ?" 

"You!"  cried  one  of  the  chorus  of  flatterers — "You !"  to 
to  whom  the  La  Grandes  are  no  more  to  be  compared — " 

"  Not  but  that  they  certainly  sing  finely,  I  am  told," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  yet  I  can't  say  I  like  their  style 
of  singing — and  knowledge  of  music,  you  know,  they 
don't  pretend  to." 

"Why,  that's  true,"  said  Miss  Georgiana;  "but  still, 
somehow,  I  can  never  bring  out  my  voice  before  those 
girls.  If  I  have  any  voice  at  all,  it  is  in  the  lower  part, 
and  Miss  La  Grande  always  chooses  the  lower  part — 
besides,  ma'am,  you  know  she  regularly  takes  '  O  Giove. 


46  PATRONAGE. 

emnipotente'  from  me.  But  I  should  not  mind  that  even, 
if  she  -would  not  attempt  poor  '  Quanta  O  quanta  e  amor 
possenle1 — there's  no  standing  that !  Now  really,  to  hear 
that  so  spoiled  by  Miss  La  Grande — " 

"  Hush !  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  just  as  Mrs. 
La  Grande  appeared — "Oh!  my  good  Mrs.  La  Grande, 
how  kind  is  this  of  you  to  come  to  me  with  your  poor 
head  !  And  Miss  La  Grande  and  Miss  Eliza !  We  are  so 
much  obliged  to  you,  for  you  know  that  we  could  not 
have  done  without  you." 

The  Miss  La  Grandes  were  soon  followed  by  the  Miss 
Barhams  and  Miss  Crotch,  and  they  were  all  "  so  good, 
and  so  kind,  and  such  dear  creatures."  But  after  the  first 
forced  compliments,  silence  and  reserve  spread  among 
the  young  ladies  of  the  Miss  Falconers'  party.  It  was 
evident  that  the  fair  professors  were  mutually  afraid 
and  envious  of  each  other,  and  there  was  little  prospect 
of  harmony  of  temper.  At  length  the  gentlemen  arrived. 
Count  Altenberg  appeared,  and  came  up  to  pay  his  com- 
pliments to  the  Miss  Falconers:  as  he  had  not  been 
behind  the  scenes,  all  was  charming  illusion  to  his  eyes. 
No  one  could  appear  more  good-humoured,  agreeable, 
and  amiable  than  Miss  Georgiana;  she  was  in  delightful 
spirits,  well-dressed,  and  admirably  supported  by  her 
mother.  The  concert  began.  But  who  can  describe 
the  anxiety  of  the  rival  mothers,  each  in  agonies  to  have 
their  daughters  brought  forward  and  exhibited  to  the 
best  advantage !  Some  grew  pale,  some  red — all,  accord- 
ing to  their  different  powers,  of  self-command  and 
address,  endeavoured  to  conceal  their  feelings.  Mrs. 
Falconer  now  shone  superior  in  ease  inimitable.  She 
appeared  absolutely  unconcerned  for  her  own  daughter, 
quite  intent  upon  bringing  into  notice  the  talents  of  the 
Miss  Barhams,  Miss  Crotch,  the  Miss  La  Grandes,  &c. 

These  young  ladies  in  their  turn  knew  and  practised 
the  various  arts  by  which  at  a  musical  party  the  unfor- 
tunate mistress  of  the  house  may  be  tormented.  Some, 
who  were  sensible  that  the  company  were  anxious  for 
their  performance,  chose  to  be  "  quite  out  of  voice"  till 
they  had  been  pressed  and  flattered  into  acquiescence ; 
one  sweet  bashful  creature  must  absolutely  be  forced  to 
the  instrument,  as  a  new  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons was  formerly  dragged  to  the  chair.  Then  the 
instrument  was  not  what  one  young  lady  was  used  to  ; 
the  lights  were  so  placed  that  another  who  was  near- 


PATRONAGE.  4? 

sighted  could  not  see  a  note — another  could  not  endure 
such  a  glare.  One  could  not  sing  unless  the  windows 
were  all  open — another  could  not  play  unless  they  were 
all  shut.  With  perfect  complaisance  Mrs.  Falconer 
ordered  the  windows  to  be  opened  and  shut,  and  again 
shut  and  opened:  with  admirable  patience  she  was,  or 
seemed  to  be,  the  martyr  to  the  caprices  of  the  fair 
musicians, — while  all  the  time  she  so  manoeuvred  as  to 
divide,  and  govern,  and  finally  to  have  every  thing 
arranged  as  she  pleased.  None  but  a  perfectly  cool 
stander-by  and  one  previously  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's character,  could  have  seen  all  that  Alfred  saw. 
Perhaps  the  interest  he  began  to  take  about  Count  Alten- 
berg,  who  was  the  grand  object  of  all  her  operations, 
increased  his  penetration.  While  the  count  was  en- 
gaged in  earnest  political  conversation  in  one  of  the  inner 
rooms  with  the  commissioner,  Mrs.  Falconer  besought 
the  Miss  La  Grandes  to  favour  the  company.  It  was 
impossible  for  them  to  resist  her  polite  entreaties.  Next 
she  called  upon  Miss  Crotch,  and  the  Miss  Barhams ; 
and  she  contrived  that  they  should  sing  and  play,  and 
play  and  sing,  till  they  had  exhausted  the  admiration 
and  complaisance  of  the  auditors.  Then  she  relieved 
attention  with  some  slight  things  from  Miss  Arabella 
Falconer,  such  as  could  excite  no  sensation  or  envy. 
Presently,  after  walking  about  the  room,  carelessly  join- 
ing different  conversation  parties,  and  saying  something 
obliging  to  each,  she  approached  the  count  and  the  com- 
missioner. Finding  that  the  commissioner  had  finished 
all  he  had  to  say,  she  began  to  reproach  him  for  keeping 
the  count  so  long  from  the  ladies,  and  leading  him,  as 
she  spoke,  to  the  piano-forte,  she  declared  that  he  had 
missed  such  charming  things.  She  could  not  ask  Miss 
Crotch  to  play  any  more  till  she  had  rested — "  Geor- 
giana !  for  want  of  something  better,  do  try  what  you 
can  give  us — She  will  appear  to  great  disadvantage,  of 
course — My  dear,  I  think  we  have  not  had  O  Giove  oin- 
nipotente." 

"  I  am  not  equal  to  that,  ma'am,"  said  Georgiana, 
drawing  back .  "  you  should  call  upon  Miss  La  Grande." 

"  True,  my  love ;  but  Miss  La  Grande  has  been  so 
very  obliging,  I  could  not  ask — Try  it,  my  love — I  am 
not  surprised  you  should  be  diffident  after  what  we  have 
heard ;  but  the  count,  I  am  sure,  will  make  allowances." 

With  amiable  and  becoming  diffidence  Miss  Georgiana 


48  PATRONAGE. 

was  compelled  to  comply— the  count  was  surprised  and 
charmed  by  her  voice :  then  she  was  prevailed  upon  to 
try  "  Quanta  O  quanta  e  amor  possente" — the  count,  who 
was  enthusiastically  fond  of  music,  seemed  quite  en- 
chanted ;  and  Mrs.  Falconer  took  care  that  he  should 
have  this  impression  left  full  and  strong  upon  his  mind 
— supper  was  announced.  The  count  was  placed  at  the 
table  between  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Lady  Trant — but  just 
as  they  were  sitting  down,  Mrs.  Falconer  called  to  Geor- 
giana,  who  was  going,  much  against  her  will,  to  another 
table,  "  Take  my  place,  my  dear  Georgiana,  for  you 
know  1  never  eat  supper." 

Georgiana's  countenance,  which  had  been  black  as 
night,  became  all  radiant  instantly.  She  took  her 
mamma's  place  beside  the  count.  Mrs.  Falconer  walked 
about  all  supper-time  smiling,  and  saying  obliging  things 
with  self-satisfied  grace.  She  had  reason  indeed  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  success  of  this  night's  operations. 
Never  once  did  she  appear  to  look  towards  the  count, 
or  her  daughter ;  but  assuredly  she  saw  that  things  were 
going  on  as  she  wished. 

In  the  mean  time  Alfred  Percy  was  as  heartily  tired 
by  the  exhibitions  of  this  evening  as  were  many  fash- 
ionable young  men  who  had  been  loud  in  their  praises 
of  the  performers.  Perhaps  Alfred  was  not  however  a 
perfectly  fair  judge,  as  he  was  disappointed  in  his  own 
manoeuvres,  not  having  been  able  to  obtain  two  minutes' 
conversation  with  the  count  during  the  whole  evening. 
In  a  letter  to  Rosamond,  the  next  day,  he  said  that  Mrs. 
Falconer's  concert  had  been  very  dull,  and  he  observed 
that  "  People  can  see  more  of  one  another  in  a  single 
day  in  the  country  than  they  can  in  a  year  in  town." 
He  was  further  very  eloquent  "  on  the  folly  of  meeting 
in  crowds  to  say  commonplace  nothings  to  people  you 
do  not  care  for,  and  to  see  only  the  outsides  of  those 
with  whom  you  desire  to  converse." 

"  Just  as  I  was  writing  this  sentence,"  continues  Al- 
fred, "  Count  Altenberg  called — how  fortunate  ! — how 
obliging  of  him  to  come  so  early,  before  I  went  to  the 
courts.  He  has  put  me  into  good-humour  again  with 
the  whole  world — even  with  the  Miss  Falconers.  He 
came  to  take  leave  of  me — he  is  going  down  to  the 
country — with  whom  do  you  think  * — With  Lord  Old- 
borough,  during  the  recess.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that 
Lord  Oldborough  would  like  him — that  is,  would  find 


PATRONAGE.  49 

that  he  has  information,  and  can  be  useful.  I  hope  you 
will  all  see  the  count ;  indeed  I  am  sure  you  will.  He 
politely  spoke  of  paying  his  respects  to  my  father,  by 
whom  the  shipwrecked  foreigners  had  been  so  hospit- 
ably succoured  in  their  distress.  I  told  him  that  our 
family  no  longer  lived  in  the  same  place ;  that  we  had 
been  obliged  to  retire  to  a  small  estate,  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  county.  I  did  not  trouble  him  with  the  history 
of  our  family  misfortunes ;  nor  did  I  even  mention  how 
the  shipwreck,  and  the  carelessness  of  the  Dutch  sailors, 
had  occasioned  the  fire  at  Percy-hall — though  I  was 
tempted  to  tell  him  this  when  I  was  speaking  of  M.  de 
Tourville. 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  my  father,  that  the  morning  when  I 
went  with  the  count  to  Lord  Oldborough's,  among  a 
heap  of  books  of  heraldry,  with  which  his  table  was 
covered,  I  spied  an  old  book  of  my  father's  on  the  arte 
of  deciphering,  which  he  had  lent  Commissioner  Fal- 
coner years  ago.  Lord  Oldborough,  whose  eye  is  quick 
as  a  hawk's,  saw  my  eye  turn -to wards  it,  and  he  asked 
me  if  I  knew  any  thing  of  that  book,  or  of  the  art  of 
deciphering  *  Nothing  of  the  art,  but  something  of  the 
book,  which  I  recollected  to  be  my  father's.  His  lord- 
ship put  it  into  my  hands,  and  I  showed  some  pencil 
notes  of  my  father's  writing.  Lord  Oldborough  seemed 
surprised,  and  said  he  did  not  know  this  had  been  among 
the  number  of  your  studies.  I  told  him  that  you  had 
once  been  much  intent  upon  Wilkins  and  Leibnitz's 
scheme  of  a  universal  language,  and  that  I  believed  this 
had  led  you  to  the  art  of  deciphering.  He  repeated  the 
words  '  Universal  language — Ha  ! — then  I  suppose  it 
was  from  Mr.  Percy  that  Commissioner  Falconer  learnt 
all  he  knew  on  this  subject  V 

"  '  I  believe  so,  my  lord.' 

"  '  Ha !'  He  seemed  lost  for  a  moment  in  thought, 
and  then  added,  '  I  wish  I  had  known  this  sooner — Ha !' 

"  What  these  Has  meant,  I  was  unable  to  decipher ; 
but  I  am  sure  they  related  to  some  matter  very  inter- 
esting to  him.  He  explained  himself  no  further,  but 
immediately  turned  away  from  me  to  the  count,  and 
began  to  talk  of  the  affairs  of  his  court,  and  of  M.  de 
Tourville,  of  whom  he  seems  to  have  some  knowledge, 
I  suppose  through  the  means  of  his  envoy,  Cunningham 
Falconer. 

"  I  understand  that  a  prodigious  party  is  invited  to 

VOL.  XV.— C 


50  PATRONAGE. 

Falconer-court.  The  count  asked  me  if  I  was  to  be 
one  of  them,  and  seemed  to  wish  it — I  like  him  much. 
They  are  to  have  balls,  and  plays,  and  great  doings.  If 
I  have  time,  I  will  write  to-morrow,  and  tell  you  who 
goes,  and  give  you  a  sketch  of  their  characters.  Mrs. 
Falconer  cannot  well  avoid  asking  you  to  some  of  her 
entertainments,  and  it  will  be  pleasant  to  you  to  know 
who's  who  beforehand." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  all  the  patronage  of  fashion,  which 
the  Miss  Falconers  had  for  some  time  enjoyed,  not- 
withstanding  all  their  own  accomplishments,  and  their 
mother's  address  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  grand 
object  had  not  been  obtained — for  they  were  not  mar- 
ried. Though  everywhere  seen,  and  everywhere  ad- 
mired, no  proposals  had  yet  been  made  adequate  to  their 
expectations.  In  vain  had  one  young  nobleman  after 
another,  heir  apparent  after  heir  apparent,  been  invited, 
cherished,  and  flattered  by  Mrs.  Falconer,  had  been 
constantly  at  her  balls  and  concerts,  had  stood  beside 
the  harp  and  the  piano-forte,  had  danced  or  flirted  with 
the  Miss  Falconers,  had  been  hung  out  at  all  public 
places  as  a  pendant  to  one  or  other  of  the  sisters. 

The  mother,  seeing  project  after  project  fail  for  the 
establishment  of  her  daughters,  forced  to  bear  and  to 
conceal  these  disappointments,  still  continued  to  form 
new  schemes  with  indefatigable  perseverance.  Yet 
every  season  the  difficulty  increased ;  and  Mrs.  Falconer, 
in  the  midst  of  the  life  of  pleasure  which  she  seemed  to 
lead,  was  a  prey  to  perpetual  anxiety.  She  knew  that 
if  any  thing  should  happen  to  the  commissioner,  whose 
health  was  declining ;  if  he  should  lose  Lord  Old- 
borough's  favour,  which  seemed  not  impossible  ;  if  Lord 
Oldborough  should  not  be  able  to  maintain  himself  in 
power,  or  if  he  should  die ;  she  and  her  daughters  would 
lose  every  thing.  From  a  small  estate,  overwhelmed 
with  debt,  there  would  be  no  fortune  for  her  daughters ; 
they  would  be  left  utterly  destitute,  and  absolutely  un- 
able to  do  any  thing  for  themselves — unlikely  to  suit 


PATRONAGE.  51 

plain  country  gentlemen,  after  the  high  style  of  com- 
pany in  which  they  had  lived,  and  still  more  incapable 
than  she  would  be  of  bearing  a  reverse  of  fortune.  The 
young  ladies,  confident  of  their  charms,  unaccustomed 
to  reflect,  and  full  of  the  present,  thought  little  of  these 
probabilities  of  future  evil,  though  they  were  quite  as 
impatient  to  be  married  as  their  mother  could  wish. 
Indeed,  this  impatience  becoming  visible,  she  was  rather 
anxious  to  suppress  it,  because  it  counteracted  her  views. 
Mrs.  Falconer  had  still  two  schemes  for  their  establish- 
ment. Sir  Robert  Percy  had  luckily  lost  his  wife  within 
the  last  twelvemonth,  had  no  children,  and  had  been 
heard  to  declare  that  he  would  marry  again  as  soon  as 
he  decently  could,  because,  if  he  were  to  die  without 
heirs,  the  Percy  estate  might  revert  to  the  relations, 
whom  he  detested.  Mrs.  Falconer  had  persuaded  the 
commissioner  to  cultivate  Sir  Robert  Percy's  acquaint- 
ance ;  had  this  winter  watched  for  the  time  when  law 
business  called  him  to  town ;  had  prevailed  upon  him  to 
go  to  her  house,  instead  of  staying,  as  he  usually  did,  at 
an  hotel,  or  spending  his  day  at  his  solicitor's  chambers. 
She  had  in  short  made  things  so  agreeable  to  him,  and 
he  seemed  so  well  pleased  with  her,  she  had  hopes  he 
would  in  time  be  brought  to  propose  for  her  daughter 
Arabella.  To  conciliate  Sir  Robert  Percy,  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  avoid  all  connexion  with  the  other  Percys ; 
and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  the  commissioner  had  of 
late  avoided  Alfred  and  Erasmus.  Mrs.  Falconer's 
schemes  for  Georgiana,  her  beautiful  daughter,  were  far 
more  brilliant.  Several  great  establishments  she  had 
in  view.  The  appearance  of  Count  Altenberg  put  many 
old  visions  to  flight — her  whole  fancy  fixed  upon  him. 
If  she  could  marry  her  Georgiana  to  Count  Altenberg! 
There  would  be  a  match  high  as  her  most  exalted  ambi- 
tion could  desire ;  and  this  project  did  not  seem  impos- 
sible. The  count  had  been  heard  to  say  that  he  thought 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  the  handsomest  woman  he  had 
seen  since  he  had  been  in  London.  He  had  admired  her 
dancing,  and  had  listened  with  enthusiastic  attention  to 
her  music,  and  to  her  charming  voice  ;  the  young  lady 
herself  was  confident  that  he  was,  would  be,  or  ought 
to  be,  her  slave.  The  count  was  going  into  the  country 
for  some  weeks  with  Lord  Oldborough.  Mrs.  Falconer, 
though  she  had  not  seen  Falconer-court  for  fifteen  years, 
decided  to  go  there  immediately.  Then  she  should  have 
C2 


52  PATRONAGE. 

the  count  fairly  away  from  all  the  designing  mother* 
and  rival  daughters  of  her  acquaintance,  and  besides — 
she  might,  by  this  seasonable  visit  to  the  country,  secure 
Sir  Robert  Percy  for  her  daughter  Arabella.  The  com- 
missioner rejoiced  in  his  lady's  determination,  because 
he  knew  that  it  would  afford  him  an  opportunity  of 
obliging  Lord  Oldborough.  His  lordship  had  always 
been  averse  to  the  trouble  of  entertaining  company. 
He  disliked  it  still  more  since  the  death  of  Lady  Old- 
borough  ;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up 
his  interest  and  his  popularity  in  the  country,  and  he 
would,  therefore,  be  obliged  by  Mrs.  Falconer's  giving 
dinners  and  entertainments  for  him.  This  game  had 
succeeded,  when  it  had  been  played — at  the  time  of  the 
Marchioness  of  Twickenham's  marriage.  Mr.  Falconer 
was  particularly  anxious  now  to  please  Lord  Oldborough, 
for  he  was  fully  aware  that  he  had  lost  ground  with  his 
patron,  and  that  his  sons  had  all  in  different  ways  given 
his  lordship  cause  of  dissatisfaction.  With  Buckhurst 
Falconer  Lord  Oldborough  was  displeased  for  being  the 
companion  and  encourager  of  his  nephew,  Colonel  Hau- 
ton,  in  extravagance  and  gaming.  In  paying  his  court 
to  the  nephew,  Buckhurst  lost  the  uncle.  Lord  Old* 
borough  had  hoped  that  a  man  of  literature  and  talents, 
as  Buckhurst  had  been  represented  to  him,  would  have 
drawn  his  nephew  from  the  turf  to  the  senate,  and 
would  have  raised  in  Colonel  Hauton's  mind  some  noble 
ambition. 

"  A  clergyman !  sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough  to  Com- 
missioner Falconer  with  a  look  of  austere  indignation—- 
"  What  could  induce  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Buckhurst  Fal- 
coner to  become  a  clergyman  ?"  The  commissioner, 
affecting  to  sympathize  in  this  indignation,  declared 
that  he  was  so  angry  with  his  son  that  he  would  not 
see  him.  All  the  time,  however,  he  comforted  himself 
with  the  hope  that  his  son  would,  in  a  few  months,  be 
in  possession  of  the  long-expected  living  of  Chipping 
Friars,  as  the  old  incumbent  was  now  speechless.  Lord 
Oldborough  had  never,  after  this  disowning  of  Buckhurst, 
mentioned  his  name  to  the  father,  and  the  commissioner 
thought  this  management  had  succeeded. 

Of  John  Falconer,  too,  there  had  been  complaints. 
Officers  returned  from  abroad  had  spoken  of  his  stupidity, 
his  neglect  of  duty,  and,  abov«  all,  of  his  boasting  that, 
let  him  do  what  he  pleased,  he  was  sure  of  Lord  Old- 


PATRONAGE.  53 

borough's  favour — certain  of  being  a  major  in  one  year, 
a  lieutenant-colonel  in  two.  At  first  his  boasts  had 
been  laughed  at  by  his  brother  officers,  but  when,  at  the 
year's  end,  he  actually  was  made  a  major,  their  surprise 
and  discontent  were  great.  Lord  Oidborough  was 
blamed  for  patronising  such  a  fellow.  All  this,  in  course 
of  time,  came  to  his  lordship's  knowledge.  He  heard 
these  complaints  in  silence.  It  was  not  his  habit  sud- 
denly to  express  his  displeasure.  He  heard,  and  saw, 
without  speaking  or  acting,  till  facts  and  proofs  had 
accumulated  in  his  mind.  He  seemed  to  pass  over 
many  things  unobserved,  but  they  were  all  registered 
in  his  memory,  and  he  would  judge  and  decide  at  last 
in  an  instant,  and  irrevocably.  Of  this  Commissioner 
Falconer,  a  cunning  man,  who  watched  parts  of  a  char- 
acter narrowly,  but  could  not  take  in  the  whole,  was 
not  aware.  He  often  blessed  his  good  fortune  for  hav- 
ing escaped  Lord  Oldborough's  displeasure  or  detec- 
tion, upon  occasions  when  his  lordship  had  marked  all 
that  the  commissioner  imagined  he  had  overlooked ;  his 
lordship  was  often  most  awake  to  what  was  passing, 
and  most  displeased,  when  he  appeared  most  absent  or 
unmoved. 

For  instance,  many  mistakes,  and  much  ignorance, 
had  frequently  appeared  in  his  envoy  Cunningham  Fal- 
coner's despatches ;  but  except  when,  in  the  first  mo- 
ment of  surprise  at  the  difference  between  the  ineptitude 
of  the  envoy,  and  the  talents  of  the  author  of  the 
pamphlet,  his  lordship  had  exclaimed,  "  A  slovenly  des- 
patch" these  mistakes,  and  this  ignorance,  had  passed 
without  animadversion.  Some  symptoms  of  duplicity, 
some  evasion  of  the  minister's  questions,  had  likewise 
appeared,  and  the  commissioner  had  trembled  lest  the 
suspicions  of  his  patron  should  be  awakened. 

Count  Altenberg,  without  design  to  injure  Cunning- 
ham, had  accidentally  mentioned  in  the  presence  of  the 
commissioner  and  of  Lord  Oldborough  something  of  a 
transaction  which  was  to  be  kept  a  profound  secret  from 
the  minister,  a  private  intrigue  which  Cunningham  had 
been  carrying  on  to  get  himself  appointed  envoy  to  the 
court  of  Denmark,  by  the  interest  of  the  opposite  party 
in  case  of  a  change  of  ministry.  At  the  moment  when 
this  was  alluded  to  by  Count  Altenberg,  the  commis- 
sioner was  so  dreadfully  alarmed  that  he  perspired  at 
every  pore;  but  perceiving  that  Lord  Oldborough  ex- 


54  FATRONAOE. 

pressed  no  surprise,  asked  no  explanation,  never  looked 
towards  him  with  suspicion,  nor  even  raised  his  eyes, 
Mr.  Falconer  flattered  himself  that  his  lordship  was  so 
completely  engrossed  in  the  operation  of  replacing  a 
loose  glass  in  his  spectacles,  that  he  had  not  heard  or 
noticed  one  word  the  count  had  said.  In  this  hope  the 
commissioner  was  confirmed  by  Lord  Oldborough's 
speaking  an  instant  afterward  precisely  in  his  usual 
tone,  and  pursuing  his  previous  subject  of  conversation, 
without  any  apparent  interruption  in  the  train  of  his 
ideas.  Yet,  notwithstanding  that  the  commissioner  fan- 
cied that  he  and  his  son  had  escaped,  and  were  secure 
in  each  particular  instance,  he  had  a  general  feeling  that 
Lord  Oldborough  was  more  reserved  towards  him  ;  and 
he  was  haunted  by  a  constant  fear  of  losing,  not  his 
patron's  esteem  or  confidence,  but  his  favour.  Against 
this  danger  he  constantly  guarded.  To  flatter,  to  keep 
Lord  Oldborough  in  good  humour,  to  make  himself 
agreeable  and  necessary  by  continual  petty  submissions 
and  services,  was  the  sum  of  his  policy. 

It  was  with  this  view  that  he  determined  to  go  to  the 
country ;  and  with  this  view  he  had  consented  to  various 
expenses,  which  were  necessary,  as  Mrs.  Falconer  de- 
clared, to  make  it  practicable  for  her  and  her  daughters 
to  accompany  him.  Orders  were  sent  to  have  a  theatre 
at  Falconer- court,  which  had  been  long  disused,  fitted 
up  in  the  most  elegant  manner.  The  Miss  Falconers 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  acting  at  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady 
Flowerton's  private  theatre  at  Richmond,  and  they  were 
accomplished  actresses.  Count  Altenberg  had  declared 
that  he  was  particularly  fond  of  theatrical  amusements. 
That  hint  was  sufficient.  Besides,  what  a  sensation  the 
opening  of  a  theatre  at  Falconer-court  would  create  in 
the  country !  Mrs.  Falconer  observed,  that  the  only 
possible  way  to  make  the  country  supportable  was  to 
have  a  large  party  of  town  friends  in  your  house — and 
this  was  the  more  necessary  for  her,  as  she  was  almost 
a  stranger  in  her  own  county. 

Alfred  kept  his  promise,  and  sent  Rosamond  a  list  of 
the  persons  of  whom  the  party  was  to  consist.  Oppo- 
site to  several  names  he  wrote — commonplace  young — 
or,  commonplace  old  ladies  : — of  the  latter  number  were 
Lady  Trant  and  Lady  Kew :  of  the  former  were  the 
Miss  G — s,  and  others  not  worth  mentioning.  Thea 


PATRONAGE-  55 

came  the  two  Lady  Arlingtons,  nieces  of  the  Duke  of 
Greenwich. 

"  The  Lady  Arlingtons,"  continues  Alfred,  "  are  glad 
to  get  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  is  glad  to 
have  them,  because  they  are  related  to  my  lord  duke. 
1  have  met  them  at  Mrs.  Falconer's,  at  Lady  Angelica 
Headingham's,  and  often  at  Lady  Jane  Granville's.  The 
style  and  tone  of  the  Lady  Anne  is  languishing — of 
Lady  Frances,  lively :  both  seem  mere  spoiled  selfish 
ladies  of  quality.  Lady  Anne's  selfishness  is  of  the 
cold,  chronic,  inveterate  nature;  Lady  Frances's  of  the 
hot,  acute  and  tormenting  species.  She  "  loves  every 
thing  by  fits,  and  nothing  long."  Everybody  is  an  angel, 
and  a  dear  creature,  while  they  minister  to  her  fancies — 
and  no  longer.  About  these  fancies  she  is  restless  and 
impatient  to  a  degree  which  makes  her  sister  look  sick 
and  scornful  beyond  description.  Lady  Anne  neither 
fancies  nor  loves  any  thing  or  anybody.  She  seems  to 
have  no  object  upon  earth  but  to  drink  barley-water,  and 
save  herself  from  all  manner  of  trouble  or  exertion, 
bodily  or  mental.  So  much  for  the  Lady  Arlingtons. 

"  Buckhurst  Falconer  cannot  be  of  this  party — Colo- 
nel Hauton  has  him  at  his  regiment.  But  Buckhurst's 
two  friends,  the  Clays,  are  earnestly  pressed  into  the 
service.  Notwithstanding  the  fine  sanctified  speech 
Mrs.  Falconer  made  me,  about  that  sad  affair  of  Lewis 

Clay  with  Lady  Harriot  H ,  she  invites  him ;  and  I 

have  a  notion,  if  Count  Altenberg  had  not  appeared, 
that  she  would  like  to  have  had  him,  or  his  brother,  for 
her  son-in-law.  That  you  may  judge  how  much  my 
mother  would  like  them  for  her  sons-in-law,  I  will  take 
the  trouble  to  draw  you  portraits  of  both  gentlemen. 

"  French  Clay  and  English  Clay,  as  they  have  been 
named,  are  brothers,  both  men  of  large  fortune,  which 
their  father  acquired  respectably  by  commerce,  and 
which  they  are  spending  in  all  kinds  of  extravagance 
and  profligacy,  not  from  inclination,  but  merely  to  pur- 
chase admission  into  fine  company.  French  Clay  is  a 
travelled  coxcomb,  who,  apropos  de  bottes,  begins  with, 

*  When  I  was  abroad  with  the  Princess  Orbitella .' 

But  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  speak  of  this  man  with  impar- 
tiality, for  I  cannot  bear  to  see  an  Englishman  aping  a 
Frenchman.  The  imitation  is  always  so  awkward,  so 
ridiculous,  so  contemptible.  French  Clay  talks  of  tact, 
but  without  possessing  any ;  he  delights  in  what  he  calls 


56  PATRONAGE. 

persiflage,  but  in  his  persiflage,  instead  of  the  wit  and 
elegance  of  Parisian  raillery,  there  appears  only  the 
vulgar  love  and  habit  of  derision.  He  is  continually 
railing  at  our  English  want  of  savoir  vivre,  yet  is  him- 
self an  example  of  the  ill-breeding  which  he  reprobates. 
His  manners  have  neither  the  cordiality  of  an  English- 
man nor  the  polish  of  a  foreigner.  To  improve  us  in 
Tesprit  de  soci^te,  he  would  introduce  the  whole  system 
of  French  gallantry — the  vice  without  the  refinement. 
I  heard  him  acknowledge  it  to  be  '  his  principle'  to  in- 
trigue with  every  married  woman  who  would  listen  to 
him,  provided  she  has  any  one  of  his  four  requisites, 
wit,  fashion,  beauty,  or  a  good  table.  He  says  his  late 
suit  in  Doctors'  Commons  cost  him  nothing ;  for  10,000/. 
are  nothing  to  him. 

'*  Public  virtue,  as  well  as  private,  he  thinks  it  a  fine 
air  to  disdain,  and  patriotism  and  love  of  our  country  he 
calls  prejudices  of  which  a  philosopher  ought  to  divest 
himself.  Some  charitable  people  say  that  he  is  not  so 
unfeeling  as  he  seems  to  be,  and  that  above  half  his 
vices  arise  from  affectation,  and  from  a  mistaken  am- 
bition to  be  what  he  thinks  perfectly  French. 

"  His  brother,  English  Clay,  is  a  cold,  reserved,  proud, 
dull-looking  man,  whom  art,  in  despite  of  nature,  strove, 
and  strove  in  vain,  to  quicken  into  a  '  gay  deceiver.' 
He  is  a  grave  man  of  pleasure — his  first  care  being  to 
provide  for  his  exclusively  personal  gratifications.  His 
dinner  is  a  serious,  solemn  business,  whether  it  be  at  his 
own  table  or  at  a  tavern,  which  last  he  prefers — he 
orders  it  so  that  his  repast  shall  be  the  very  best  of  its 
kind  that  money  can  procure.  His  next  care  is,  that  he 
be  not  cheated  in  what  he  is  to  pay.  Not  that  he  values 
money,  but  he  cannot  bear  to  be  taken  in.  Then  his 
dress,  his  horses,  his  whole  appointment  and  establish- 
ment, are  complete,  and  accurately  in  the  fashion  of  th« 
day — no  expense  spared.  All  that  belongs  to  Mr.  Clay, 
of  Clay-hall,  is  the  best  of  its  kind,  or,  at  least,  had  from 
the  best  hand  in  England.  Every  thing  about  him  is  Eng- 
lish ;  but  I  don't  know  whether  this  arises  from  love  of 
his  country  or  contempt  of  his  brother.  English  Clay 
is  not  ostentatious  of  that  which  is  his  own,  but  he  is 
disdainful  of  all  that  belongs  to  another.  The  slightest 
deficiency  in  the  appointments  of  his  companions  he  sees 
and  marks  by  a  wink  to  some  bystander,  or  with  a  dry 
joke  laughs  the  wretch  to  scorn.  In  company  h$ 


PATRONAGE.  57 

delights  to  sit  by  silent  and  snug,  sneering  inwardly  at 
those  who  are  entertaining  the  company,  and  committing 
themselves.  He  never  entertains,  and  is  seldom  enter- 
tained. His  joys  are  neither  convivial  nor  intellectual ; 
he  is  gregarious,  but  not  companionable ;  a  hard  drinker, 
but  not  secial.  Wine  sometimes  makes  him  noisy,  but 
never  makes  him  gay ;  and,  whatever  be  his  excesses, 
he  commits  them  seemingly  without  temptation  from 
taste  or  passion.  He  keeps  a  furiously  expensive  mis- 
tress, whom  he  curses,  and  who  curses  him,  as  Buck- 
hurst  informs  me,  ten  times  a  day ;  yet  he  prides  him- 
self on  being  free  and  unmarried !  Scorning  and  dread- 
ing women  in  general,  he  swears  he  would  not  marry 
Venus  herself  unless  she  had  100,000L  in  each  pocket ; 
and  now  that  no  mortal  Venus  wears  pockets,  he  thanks 
Heaven  he  is  safe.  Buckhurst,  I  remember,  assured  me 
that  beneath  this  crust  of  pride  there  is  some  good-na- 
ture. Deep  hid  under  a  large  mass  of  selfishness,  there 
may  be  some  glimmerings  of  affection.  He  shows  symp- 
toms of  feeling  for  his  horses,  and  his  mother,  and  his 
coachman,  and  his  country.  I  do  believe  he  would  fight 
for  old  England,  for  it  is  his  country*  and  he  is  English 
Clay.  Affection  for  his  coachman,  did  I  say] — He 
shows  admiration,  if  not  affection,  for  every  whip  of 
note  in  town.  He  is  their  companion — no,  their  pupil, 
and,  as  Antoninus  Pius  gratefully  prided  himself  in  re- 
cording the  names  of  those  relations  and  friends  from 
whom  he  learned  his  several  virtues,  this  man  may 
boast  to  after-ages  of  having  learned  from  one  coach- 
man how  to  cut  a  fly  off  his  near  leader's  ear,  how  to 
tuck  up  a  duck  from  another,  and  the  true  spit  from  a 
third — by-the-by,  it  is  said,  but  I  don't  vouch  for  the 
truth  of  the  story,  that  this  last  accomplishment  cost 
him  a  tooth,  which  he  had  drawn  to  attain  it  in  perfec- 
tion. Pure  slang  he  could  not  learn  from  any  one 
coachman,  but  from  constantly  frequenting  the  society 
of  all.  I  recollect  Buckhurst  Falconer  telling  me  that 
he  dined  once  with  English  Clay,  in  company  with  a 
baronet,  a  viscount,  an  earl,  a  duke,  and  the  driver  of  a 
mail-coach,  to  whom  was  given,  by  acclamation,  the 
seat  of  honour.  I  am  told  there  is  a  house,  at  which 
these  gentlemen  and  noblemen  meet  regularly  every 
week,  where  there  are  two  dining-rooms  divided  by 
glass  doors.  In  one  room  the  real  coachmen  dine,  in 
the  other  the  amateur  gentlemen,  who,  when  they  are 
C3 


58  PATRONAGE. 

tired  of  their  own  conversation,  throw  open  the  glass 
doors,  that  they  may  be  entertained  and  edified  by  the 
coachmen's  wit  and  slang;  in  which  dialect  English 
Clay's  rapid  proficiency  has,  it  is  said,  recommended 
him  to  the  best  society,  even  more  than  his  being  the 
master  of  the  best  of  cooks,  and  of  Clay-hall. 

"  I  have  said  so  much  more  than  I  intended  of  both 
these  brothers,  that  I  have  no  room  for  more  portraits ; 

indeed,  the  other  gentlemen  are  zeroes. 

****** 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"ALFRED  PERCY." 

Notwithstanding  the  pains  which  Mrs.  Falconer  took 
to  engage  these  Mr.  Clays  to  accompany  her,  she  could 
obtain  only  a  promise  that  they  would  wait  upon  her,  if 
possible,  some  time  during  the  recess. 

Count  Altenberg  also,  much  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  disap- 
pointment, was  detained  in  town  a  few  days  longer  than 
he  had  foreseen,  but  he  promised  to  follow  Lord  Old- 
borough  early  in  the  ensuing  week.  All  the  rest  of  the 
prodigious  party  arrived  at  Falconer- court,  which  was 
within  a  few  miles  of  Lord  Oldborough's  seat  at  Cler- 
mont-park. 

The  day  after  Lord  Oldborough's  arrival  in  the  coun- 
try, his  lordship  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which 
fixed  in  his  right  hand.  Commissioner  Falconer,  when 
he  came  in  the  morning  to  pay  his  respects,  and  to  in- 
quire after  his  patron's  health,  found  him  in  his  study, 
writing  a  letter  with  his  left  hand.  "  My  lord,  shall  I 
not  call  Mr.  Temple — or — could  I  offer  my  services  as 
secretary  1" 

"  I  thank  you,  sir — no.  This  letter  must  be  written 
with  my  own  hand." 

Who  can  this  letter  be  to  that  is  of  so  much  conse- 
quence ]  thought  the  commissioner ;  and  glancing  his 
eye  at  the  direction,  he  saw,  as  the  letter  was  given  to 
a  servant,  "  To  L.  Percy,  Esq." — his  surprise  arrested 
the  pinch  of  snuff  which  he  was  just  going  to  take. 
"  What  could  be  the  business — the  secret— only  a  few 
lines,  what  could  they  contain  V* 

Simply  these  words : — 

uMv  DEAR  SIR, 
"I  write  to  you  with  my  left  hand,  the  gout  having, 


PATRONAGE.  59 

within  these  few  hours,  incapacitated  my  right.  Since 
this  gout  keeps  me  prisoner,  and  I  cannot,  as  I  had  in- 
tended, go  to  you,  may  I  beg  that  you  will  do  me  the 
favour  to  come  to  me,  if  it  could  suit  your  convenience, 
to-morrow  morning,  when  I  shall  be  alone  from  twelve 
till  four. 

"  With  true  esteem, 
"  Yours, 

"  OLDBOROUGH." 

In  the  course  of  the  day  the  commissioner  found  out, 
by  something  Lord  Oldborough  let  fall,  what  his  lord- 
ship had  no  intention  to  conceal,  that  he  had  requested 
Mr.  Percy  to  come  to  Clermont-park  the  next  morning ; 
and  the  commissioner  promised  himself  that  he  would 
be  in  the  way  to  see  his  good  cousin  Percy,  and  to  sat- 
isfy his  curiosity.  But  his  manoeuvres  and  windings 
were,  whenever  it  was  necessary,  counteracted  and  cut 
short  by  the  unexpected  directness  and  peremptory 
plain  dealing  of  his  patron.  In  the  morning,  towards 
the  hour  of  twelve,  the  commissioner  thought  he  had 
well  begun  a  conversation  that  would  draw  out  into 
length  upon  a  topic  which  he  knew  must  be  interesting 
to  his  lordship,  and  he  held  in  his  hand  private  letters 
of  great  consequence  from  his  son  Cunningham ;  but 
Lord  Oldborough,  taking  the  letters,  locked  them  up  in 
his  desk,  saying,  "  To-night  I  will  read  them — this 
morning  I  have  set  apart  for  a  conversation  with  Mr. 
Percy,  whom  I  wish  to  see  alone.  In  the  mean  time, 
my  interest  in  the  borough  has  been  left  too  much  to 
the  care  of  that  attorney  Sharpe,  of  whom  I  have  no 
great  opinion.  Will  you  be  so  good  to  ride  over,  as  you 
promised  me  that  you  would,  to  the  borough,  and  see 
what  is  doing  there  ?" 

The  commissioner  endeavoured  not  to  look  discon- 
certed or  discomfited,  rang  the  bell  for  his  horses,  and 
•took  his  leave,  as  Lord  Oldborough  had  determined  that 
he  should,  before  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Percy,  who  came 
exactly  at  twelve. 

"  I  thank  you  for  this  punctuality,  Mr.  Percy,"  said 
Lord  Oldborough,  advancing  in  his  most  gracious  man- 
ner;  and  no  two  things  could  be  more  strikingly  differ- 
ent than  his  gracious  and  ungracious  manner.  "  I  thank 
you  for  this  kind  punctuality.  No  one  knows  better 


60  PATRONA6E. 

than  I  do  the  difference  between  the  visit  of  a  friend 
and  all  other  visits." 

Without  preface,  Lord  Oldborough  always  went  directly 
to  the  point.  "  I  have  requested  you  to  come  to  me,  Mr. 
Percy,  because  I  want  from  yote  two  things,  which  I 
cannot  have  so  much  to  my  satisfaction  from  any  other 
person  as  from  you — assistance  and  sympathy.  But, 
before  I  go  to  my  own  affairs,  let  me — and  not  by  way 
of  compliment,  but  plainly  and  truly — let  me  congratulate 
you,  my  dear  sir,  on  the  success  of  your  sons,  on  the 
distinction  and  independence  they  have  already  acquired 
in  their  professions.  I  know  the  value  of  independence 
— of  that  which  I  shall  never  have,"  added  his  lordship, 
with  a  forced  smile  and  a  deep  sigh.  "  But  let  that  be. 
It  was  not  of  that  I  meant  to  speak.  You  pursue  your 
course,  I,  mine.  Firmness  of  purpose  1  take  to  be  the 
great  difference  between  man  and  man.  I  am  not  one 
of  those  who  habitually  covet  sympathy.  It  is  a  sign 
of  a  mind  insufficient  to  its  own  support,  to  look  for 
sympathy  on  every  trivial  occurrence ;  and  on  great 
occasions  it  has  not  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet  many 
persons  who  could  sympathize  with  me." 

"  True,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  "  people  must  think  with  you, 
before  they  can  feel  with  you." 

"  It  is  extraordinary,  Mr.  Percy,"  continued  Lord  Old- 
borough,  "  that,  knowing  how  widely  you  differ  from  me 
in  political  principles,  I  should  choose,  of  all  men  living, 
to  open  my  mind  to  you.  But  the  fact  is,  that  I  am  coo- 
vinced,  however  we  may  differ  about  the  means,  the  end 
we  both  have  in  view  is  one  and  the  same — the  good 
and  glory  of  the  British  empire." 

"  My  lord,  I  believe  it,"  cried  Mr.  Percy — with  energy 
and  warmth  he  repeated,  "  My  lord,  I  believe  it." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough ;  "  you  do 
me  justice.  I  have  reason  to  be  satisfied  when  such 
men  as  you  do  me  justice ;  I  have  reason  also  to  be 
satisfied  that  I  have  not  to  make  the  common  complaint 
of  those  who  serve  princes.  From  him  whom  I  have 
served  I  have  not  met  with  any  ingratitude,  with  any 
neglect :  on  the  contrary,  I  am  well  assured,  that  so 
firm  is  his  conviction  of  my  intending  the  good  of  his 
throne  and  of  his  people,  that  to  preserve  me  his  minis- 
ter is  the  first  wish  of  his  heart.  I  am  confident  that 
without  hesitation  he  would  dismiss  from  his  councils 


PATRONAGE.  61 

any  who  should  obstruct  my  views,-or  be  inimical  to  my 
interests." 

"  Then,  my  lord,  you  are  happy ;  if  man  can  be  happy 
at  the  summit  of  ambition." 

"  Pardon  me.  It  is  "a  dizzy  height  at  best ;  but,  were 
it  attained,  I  trust  my  head  would  be  strong  enough  to 
bear  it." 

"  Lord  Verulam,  you  know,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Percy, 
smiling,  "  tells  us,  that  people,  by  looking  down  preci- 
pices, do  put  their  spirits  in  the  act  of  falling." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  rather  impatient 
at  Mr.  Percy's  going  to  Lord  Verulam  and  philosophy. 
"  But  you  have  not  yet  heard  the  facts.  I  am  encompassed' 
with  enemies,  open  and  secret.  Open  enemies  I  meet 
and  defy — their  strength  I  can  calculate  and  oppose; 
but  the  strength  of  my  secret  enemies  I  cannot  calculate, 
for  that  strength  depends  on  their  combination,  and  that 
combination  I  cannot  break  till  I  know  of  what  it  con- 
sists. I  have  the  power  and  the  will  to  strike,  but  know 
not  where  to  aim.  In  the  dark  I  will  not  strike,  lest  I 
injure  the  innocent  or  destroy  a  friend.  Light  I  cannot 
obtain,  though  I  have  been  in  search  of  it  for  a  consid- 
erable time.  Perhaps,  by  your  assistance  it  may  be 
obtained." 

"By  my  assistance!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Percy:  "igno- 
rant as  I  am  of  all  parties,  and  of  all  their  secret  trans- 
actions, how,  my  dear  lord,  can  I  possibly  afford  you 
any  assistance "?" 

"  Precisely  by  your  being  unconnected  with  all  parties 
— a  cool  stander-by,  you  can  judge  of  the  play — you  can 
assist  me  with  your  general  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
and  with  a  particular  species  of  knowledge,  of  which  I 
should  never  have  guessed  that  you  were  possessed,  but 
for  an  accidental  discovery  of  it  made  to  me  the  other 
day  by  your  son  Alfred — your  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
deciphering." 

Lord  Oldborough  then  produced  the  Tourville  papers, 
related  how  they  had  been  put  into  his  hands  by  Com- 
missioner Falconer,  showed  him  what  the  commissioner 
and  his  son  had  deciphered,  pointed  out  where  the  re- 
maining difficulty  occurred,  and  explained  how  they 
were  completely  at  a  stand  from  their  inability  to  de- 
cipher the  word  Gassoc,  or  to  decide  who  or  what  it 
could  mean.  All  the  conjectures  of  the  commissioner, 
the  cassock,  and  the  bishop,  and  the  gosshawk,  and  the 


62  PATRONAGE. 

heraldic  researches,  and  the  French  misnomers,  and  the 
puns  upon  the  coats-of-arms,  and  the  notes  from  Wilkins 
on  universal  language,  and  an  old  book  on  deciphering, 
which  had  been  lent  to  the  commissioner,  and  the 
private  and  public  letters  which"  Cunningham  had  writ- 
ten since  he  went  abroad,  were  all  laid  before  Mr. 
Percy. 

"  As  to  my  envoy,  Mr.  Cunningham  Falconer,"  said 
Lord  Oldborough,  as  he  took  up  the  bundle  of  Cunning- 
ham's letters,  "  I  do  not  choose  to  interrupt  the  main 
business  before  us,  by  adverting  to  him  or  to  his  char- 
acter, further  than  to  point  out  to  you  this  mark,"  show- 
ing a  peculiar  pencil  mark,  made  on  certain  papers. 
"  This  is  my  note  of  distrust,  observe,  and  this  my  note 
for  mere  circumlocution,  or  nonsense.  And  here,"  con- 
tinued his  lordship,  "  is  a  list  of  all  those  in,  or  connected 
with  the  ministry,  whom  it  is  possible  may  be  my  ene- 
mies." The  list  was  the  same  as  that  on  which  the 
commissioner  formerly  went  to  work,  except  that  the 
name  of  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  had  been  struck  out, 
and  two  others  added  in  his  place,  so  that  it  stood  thus : 
"  Dukes  of  Doncaster  and  Stratford ;  Lords  Coleman, 
Naresby,  Skreene,  Twisselton,  Waltham,  Wrexfield, 
Chelsea,  and  Lancaster  ;  Sir  Thomas  Cope,  Sir  James 
Skipworth ;  Secretaries  Arnold  and  Oldfield."  This  list 
was  marked  with  figures,  in  different  coloured  inks,  pre- 
fixed to  each  name,  denoting  the  degrees  of  their  sup- 
posed enmity  to  Lord  Oldborough,  and  these  had  been 
calculated  from  a  paper,  containing  notes  of  the  probable 
causes  and  motives  of  their  disaffection,  drawn  up  by 
Commissioner  Falconer,  but  corrected,  and  in  many 
places  contradicted,  by  notes  in  Lord  Oldborough's 
hand-writing.  His  lordship  marked  which  was  his  cal- 
culation of  probabilities,  and  made  sojme  observations 
on  the  character  of  each,  as  he  read  over  the  list  of 
names  rapidly. 

Doncaster,  a  dunce — Stratford,  a  miser — Coleman,  a 
knave — Naresby,  non  compos — Skreene,  the  most  cor- 
rupt of  the  corrupt — Twisselton,  puzzle-headed— Wal- 
tham, a  mere  theorist — Wrexfield,  a  speechifier — Chel- 
sea, a  trimmer — Lancaster,  deep  and  dark — Sir  Thomas 
Cope,  a  wit,  a  poet,  and  a  fool — Sir  James  Skipworth, 
finance  and  finesse — Arnold,  able  and  active — and  Old- 
field,  a  diplomatist  in  grain. 

"•And  is  this  the  summary  of  the  history  of  the  men 


PATRONAGE.  63 

with  whom  your  lordship  is  obliged  to  act  and  live  1" 
said  Mr.  Percy. 

"  It  is — I  am :  but,  my  dear  sir,  do  not  let  us  fly  off  at 
a  tangent  to  morality  or  philosophy ;  these  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  present  purpose.  You  have  before  you 
all  the  papers  relative  to  this  transaction.  Now,  will 
you  do  me  the  favour,  the  service,  to  look  them  over, 
and  try  whether  you  can  make  out  le  mot  (Ttnigme.  I 
shall  not  disturb  you." 

Lord  Oldborough  sat  down  at  a  small  table  by  the 
fire,  with  a  packet  of  letters  and  memorials  beside 
him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  completely  absorbed 
in  these,  for  he  had  acquired  the  power  of  turning  his 
attention  suddenly  and  entirely  from  one  subject  to 
another. 

Without  reading  the  mass  of  Commissioner  Falconer's 
explanations  and  conjectures,  or  encumbering  his  under- 
standing with  all  that  Cunningham  had  collected,  as  if 
purposely  to  puzzle  the  cause,  Mr.  Percy  examined  first 
very  carefully  the  original  documents — then  Lord  Old- 
borough's  notes  on  the  views  and  characters  of  the  sus- 
pected persons,  and  the  reasons  of  their  several  enmities 
or  dissatisfaction.  From  the  scale  of  probabilities,  which 
he  found  had  been  with  great  skill  calculated  on  these 
notes,  he  selected  the  principal  names,  and  then  tried 
with  these,  whether  he  could  make  out  an  idea  that  had 
struck  him  the  moment  he  had  heard  of  the  Gassoc. 
He  recollected  the  famous  word  Cabal,  in  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  Second,  and  he  thought  it  possible  that  the 
cabalistical  word  Gassoc  might  be  formed  by  a  similar 
combination.  But  Gassoc  was  no  English  word,  was  no 
word  of  any  language.  Upon  close  examination  of  the 
Tourville  papers,  he  perceived  that  the  commissioner 
had  been  right  in  one  of  his  suggestions,  that  the  G  had 
been  written  instead  of  a  C :  in  some  places  it  had  been 
a  c  turned  into  a  g,  and  the  writer  seemed  to  be  in  doubt 
whether  the  word  should  be  Gassoc  or  Cassoc.  Assum- 
ing, therefore,  that  it  was  Cassock,  Mr.  Percy  found  the 
initials  of  six  persons,  who  stood  high  in  Lord  Old- 
borough's  scale  of  probabilities  :  Chelsea — Arnold — 
Skreene — Skipworth — Oldfield— Coleman  ;  and  the  last 
k,  for  which  he  hunted  in  vain  a  considerable  time,  was 
supplied  by  Kensington  (one  of  the  Duke  of  Greenwich's 
title),  whose  name  had  been  scratched  out  of  the  list, 
since  his  reconciliation  and  connexion  by  marriage  with 


64  PATRONAGE. 

Lord  Oldborough,  but  who  had  certainly  at  one  time 
been  of  the  league  of  his  lordship's  enemies.  Every 
circumstance  and  date  in  the  Tourville  papers  exactly 
agreed  with  this  explanation :  the  Cassock  thus  composed 
cleared  up  all  difficulties ;  and  passages  that  were  be- 
fore dark  and  mysterious  were  rendered  by  this  reading 
perfectly  intelligible.  The  interpretation,  when  once 
given,  appeared  so  simple,  that  Lord  Oldborough  won- 
dered how  it  was  possible  that  it  had  not  before  occurred 
to  his  mind.  His  satisfaction  was  great — he  was  at 
this  moment  relieved  from  all  danger  of  mistaking  friend 
for  foe  ;  he  felt  that  his  enemies  were  in  his  power,  and 
his  triumph  secure. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  cried  he,  "  you  do  not  know,  you  can- 
not estimate,  the  extent  of  the  service  you  have  done 
me  :  far  from  wishing  to  lessen  it  in  your  eyes,  I  wish 
you  to  know  at  this  moment  its  full  importance.  By 
Lady  Oldborough's  death,  and  by  circumstances  with 
which  I  need  not  trouble  you,  I  lost  the  support  of  her 
connexions.  The  Duke  of  Greenwich,  though  my  rela- 
tion, is  a  weak  man,  and  a  weak  man  can  never  be  a 
good  friend.  I  was  encompassed,  undermined,  the 
ground  hollow  under  me — I  knew  it,  but  I  could  not 
put  my  finger  upon  one  of  the  traitors.  Now  I  have 
them  all  at  one  blow,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  have 
the  character,  I  believe,  of  being  what  is  called  proud, 
but  you  see  that  I  am  not  too  proud  to  be  assisted  and 
obliged  by  one  who  will  never  allow  me  to  oblige  or 
assist  him  or  any  of  his  family.  But  why  should  this  be  ? 
Look  over  the  list  of  these  men.  In  some  one  of  these 
places  of  trust,  give  me  a  person  in  whom  I  can  confide, 
a  friend  to  me,  and  to  your  country.  Look  over  that 
list,  now  in  your  hand,  and  put  your  finger  upon  any 
thing  that  will  suit  you.'* 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Percy ;  "  I  feel  the 
full  value  of  your  good  opinion,  and  true  gratitude  for 
the  warmth  of  your  friendship,  but  I  cannot  accept  of 
any  office  under  your  administration.  Our  political 
principles  differ  as  much  as  our  private  sentiments  of 
honour  agree ;  and  these  sentiments  will,  I  trust,  make 
you  approve  of  what  I  now  say — and  do." 

"  But  there  are  places,  there  are  situations  which  you 
might  accept,  where  your  political  opinions  and  mine 
eould  never  clash.  It  is  an  extraordinary  thing  for  a 
minister  to  press  a  gentleman  to  accept  of  a  place,  un- 


PATRONAGE.  65 

less  he  expects  more  in  return  than  what  he  gives.  But 
come — I  must  have  Mr.  Percy  one  of  us.  You  have 
never  tried  ambition  yet,"  added  Lord  Oldborough.,  with 
a  smile  :  "  trust  me,  you  will  find  ambition  has  its  plea- 
sures, its  proud  moments,  when  a  man  feels  that  he  has 
his  foot  on  the  neck  of  his  enemies." 

Lord  Oldborough  stood,  as  if  he  felt  this  pride  at  the 
instant.  "  You  do  not  know  the  charms  of  ambition, 
Mr.  Percy." 

"  It  may  be  delightful  to  feel  one's  foot  on  the  neck 
of  one's  enemies,  but,  for  my  part,  I  rather  prefer  hav- 
ing no  enemies." 

"  No  enemies !"  said  Lord  Oldborough :  "  every  man 
that  has  character  enough  to  make  friends  has  character 
enough  to  make  enemies — and  must  have  enemies,  if 
not  of  his  power  or  place,  of  his  talents  and  property — 
the  sphere  lower,  the  passion's  the  same.  No  enemies ! 
— What  is  he,  who  has  been  at  law  with  you,  and  has 
robbed  you  of  your  estate  ?" 

"  I  forgot  him — upon  my  word,  I  forgot  him,"  said 
Mr.  Percy.  "  You  see,  my  lord,  if  he  robbed  me  of  my 
estate,  he  did  not  rob  me  of  my  peace  of  mind.  Does 
your  lordship  think,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  smiling,  "that 
any  ambitious  man,  deprived  of  his  place,  could  say  as 
much  ?" 

"  When  I  can  tell  you  that  from  my  own  experience, 
you  shall  know,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  replying  in  the 
same  tone  ;  "but,  thanks  to  your  discovery,  there  seems 
to  be  little  chance,  at  present,  of  my  being  competent  to 
answer  that  question.  But  to  business — we  are  wasting 
life." 

Every  word  or  action  that  did  not  tend  to  a  political 
purpose  appeared  to  Lord  Oldborough  to  be  a  waste  of 
life. 

"  Your  ultimatum  ?     Can  you  be  one  of  us  1" 

"  Impossible,  my  lord.  Pardon  me  if  I  say,  that  the 
nearer  the  view  your  confidence  permits  me  to  take  of 
the  workings  of  your  powerful  mind,  and  of  the  pains 
and  penalties  of  your  exalted  situation,  the  more  clearly 
I  feel  that  ambition  is  not  for  me,  that  my  happiness  lies 
in  another  line." 

"  Enough — I  have  done — the  subject  is  at  rest  be- 
tween us  for  ever."  A  cloud,  followed  instantaneously 
by  a  strong  radiance  of  pleasure,  passed  across  Lord 
Oldborough's  countenance,  while  he  pronounced,  as  if 


66  PATRONAGE. 

speaking  to  himself,  the  words,  "  Singular  obstinacy ! 
Admirable  consistency !  And  I  too  am  consistent,  my 
dear,  sir,"  said  he,  sitting  down  at  the  table.  "  Now  for 
business;  but  I  am  deprived  of  my  right  hand."  He 
rang,  and  desired  his  secretary,  Mr.  Temple,  to  be  sent 
to  him.  Mr.  Percy  rose  to  take  leave,  but  Lord  Old- 
borough  would  not  permit  him  to  go.  "  I  can  have  no 
secrets  for  you,  Mr.  Percy — stay  and  see  the  end  of  the 
Cassock." 

Mr.  Temple  came  in  ;  and  Lord  Oldborough,  with  that 
promptitude  and  decision  by  which  he  was  characterized, 
dictated  a  letter  to  the  king,  laying  before  his  majesty 
the  whole  intrigue,  as  discovered  by  the  Tourville  pa- 
pers, adding  a  list  of  the  members  of  the  Cassock — con- 
cluding by  begging  his  majesty's  permission  to  resign, 
unless  the  cabal,  which  had  rendered  his  efforts  for  the 
good  of  the  country  and  for  his  majesty's  service  in 
some  points  abortive,  should  be  dismissed  from  his 
majesty's  councils.  In  another  letter  to  a  private  friend, 
who  had  access  to  the  royal  ear,  Lord  Oldborough  named 
the  persons,  whom,  if  his  majesty  should  do  him  the  fa- 
vour of  consulting  him,  he  should  wish  to  recommend  in 
the  places  of  those  who  might  be  dismissed.  His  lord- 
ship further  remarked,  that  the  marriage  which  had  taken 
place  between  his  niece  and  the  eldest  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Greenwich,  and  the  late  proofs  of  his  grace's  friend- 
ship, dissipated  all  fears  and  resentment  arising  from 
his  former  connexion  with  the  Cassock.  Lord  Old- 
borough  therefore  entreated  his  majesty  to  continue  his 
grace  in  his  ministry.  All  this  was  stated  in  the  short- 
est and  plainest  terms. 

"  No  rounded  periods,  no  phrases,  no  fine  writing,  Mr. 
Temple,  upon  this  occasion,  if  you  please ;  it  must  be 
felt  that  these  letters  are  straight  from  my  mind,  and 
that  if  they  are  not  written  by  my  own  hand,  it  is  be- 
cause that  hand  is  disabled.  As  soon  as  the  gout  will 
let  me  stir,  I  shall  pay  my  duty  to  my  sovereign  in  per- 
son. These  arrangements  will  be  completed,  I  trust,  by 
the  meeting  of  parliament.  In  the  meantime  I  am  bet- 
ter here  than  in  London :  the  blow  will  be  struck,  and 
none  will  know  by  whom — not  but  what  I  am  ready  to 
avow  it,  if  caUed  upon.  But — let  the  coffee-house  poli- 
ticians decide,  and  the  country  gentlemen  prose  upon  it," 
said  Lord  Oldborough,  smiling — "  some  will  say  the  min- 
istry split  on  India  affairs,  some  on  Spanish,  some  on 


PATRONAGE.  67 

French  affairs.  How  little  they,  any  of  them,  know 
what  passes  or  what  governs  behind  the  curtain  !  Let 
them  talk — while  I  act." 

The  joy  of  this  discovery  so  raised  Lord  Oldborough's 
spirits,  and  dilated  his  heart,  that  he  threw  himself  open 
with  a  freedom  and  hilarity,  and  with  a  degree  of  hu- 
mour unusual  to  him,  and  unknown  except  to  the  few 
in  his  most  intimate  confidence.  The  letters  finished, 
Mr.  Temple  was  immediately  despatched  with  them  to 
town. 

"  There,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Tem- 
ple had  left  him,  "  there's  a  secretary  I  can  depend  upon ; 
and  there  is  another  obligation  I  owe  to  your  family — to 
your  son  Alfred." 

Now  this  business  of  the  Tourville  papers  was  off  his 
mind,  Lord  Oldborough,  though  not  much  accustomed  to 
turn  his  attention  to  the  lesser  details  of  domestic  life, 
spoke  of  every  individual  of  the  Percy  family  with  whom 
he  was  acquainted ;  and,  in  particular,  of  Godfrey,  to 
whom  he  was  conscious  that  he  had  been  unjust.  Mr. 
Percy,  to  relieve  him  from  this  regret,  talked  of  the 
pleasure  his  son  had  had  in  his  friend  Gascoigne's  late 
promotion  to  the  lieutenant-colonelcy.  While  Mr.  Percy 
spoke,  Lord  Oldborough  searched  among  a  packet  of 
letters  for  one  which  made  honourable  mention  of 
Captain  Percy,  and  put  it  into  the  hands  of  the  happy 
father. 

"  Ah !  these  are  pleasurable  feelings  denied  to  me," 
said  Lord  Oldborough. 

After  a  pause  he  added,  "  That  nephew  of  mine,  Col- 
onel Hauton,  is  irretrievably  profligate,  selfish,  insignifi- 
cant. I  look  to  my  niece,  the  Marchioness  of  Twicken- 
ham's child,  that  is  to  say,  if  the  mother — " 

Another  long  pause,  during  which  his  lordship  rubbed 
the  glasses  of  his  spectacles,  and  looked  through  them, 
as  if  intent  that  no  speck  should  remain ;  while  he  did 
this  very  slowly,  his  mind  ran  rapidly  from  the  idea  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Twickenham  to  John  Falconer,  and 
thence  to  all  the  causes  of  distrust  and  discontent  which 
he  felt  towards  all  the  different  individuals  of  the  Fal- 
coner family.  He  considered,  that  now  the  Tourville 
papers  had  been  completely  deciphered,  the  necessity 
for  engaging  the  secrecy  of  the  commissioner,  and  of 
his  son- Cunningham,  would  soon  cease. 

Lord  Oldborough's  revery  was  interrupted  by 


68  PATRONAGE. 

ing,  at  this  instant,  the  commissioner  returning  from  his 
ride. 

"  Not  a  word,  Mr.  Percy,  of  what  has  passed  between 
us,  to  Commissioner  Falconer — not  a  word  of  the  Gassoc. 
I  put  you  on  your  guard,  because  you  live  with  those 
in  whom  you  have  entire  confidence,"  said  Lord  Old- 
borough  ;  "  but  that  is  what  a  public  man,  a  minister, 
cannot  do." 

Another  reason  why  1  should  not  like  to  be  a  min- 
ister, thought  Mr.  Percy.  "  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
the  commissioner  was  entirely  in  your  lordship's  con- 
fidence." 

"  I  thought  you  were  too  good  a  philosopher  to  take 
any  thing  for  granted,  Mr.  Percy.  Consider,  if  you 
please,  that  I  am  in  a  situation  were  I  must  have  tools, 
and  use  them,  as  long  as  I  can  make  them  serviceable 
to  my  purpose.  Sir,  I  am  not  a  missionary,  but  a  min- 
ister. I  must  work  with  men,  and  upon  men,  such  as  I 
find  them.  I  am  not  a  chymist,  to  analyze  and  purify 
the  gold.  1  make  no  objection  to  that  alloy,  which  I  am 
told  is  necessary,  and  fits  it  for  being  moulded  to  my 
purposes.  But  here  comes  the  ductile  commissioner." 

Lord  Oldborough  began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  borough, 
without  any  mercy  for  his  curiosity,  and  without  any 
attempt  to  evade  the  various  dexterous  pushes  he  made 
to  discover  the  business  which  had  this  morning  occu- 
pied his  lordship.  Mr.  Percy  was  surprised,  in  the 
course  of  this  day,  to  see  the  manner  in  which  the  com- 
missioner, a  gentleman  well-born,  of  originally  indepen- 
dent fortune  and  station,  humbled  and  abased  himself  to 
a  patron.  Mr.  Falconer  had  contracted  a  certain  crin- 
ging servility  of  manner,  which  completely  altered  his 
whole  appearance,  and  which  quite  prevented  him  even 
from  looking  like  a  gentleman.  It  was  his  principle 
never  to  contradict  a  great  man,  never  to  give  him  any 
sort  of  pain  ;  and  his  idea  of  the  deference  due  to  rank, 
and  of  the  danger  of  losing  favour  by  giving  offence,  was 
carried  so  far,  that  not  only  his  attitude  and  language, 
but  his  whole  mind,  seemed  to  be  new  modified.  He  had 
not  the  free  use  of  his  faculties.  He  seemed  really  so  to 
subdue  and  submit  his  powers,  that  his  understanding 
was  annihilated.  Mr.  Percy  was  astonished  at  the 
change  in  his  cousin ;  the  commissioner  was  equally 
surprised,  nay,  actually  terrified,  by  Mr.  Percy's  freedom 
and  boldness.  "  Good  Heavens !  how  can  you  speak  in 


PATRONAGE.  69 

this  manner  V  said  Mr.  Falconer,  as  they  were  going 
down  stairs  together,  after  parting  with  Lord  Old- 
borough. 

"  And  why  not  1 — I  have  nothing  to  fear  or  to  hope, 
nothing  to  gain  or  to  lose.  Lord  Oldborough  can  give 
me  nothing  that  I  would  accept,  but  his  esteem,  and  that 
I  am  sure  of  never  losing." 

Heigho  ! — If  I  had  your  favour  with  my  lord,  what  I 
would  make  of  it !  thought  the  commissioner,  as  he 
stepped  into  his  chariot.  Mr.  Percy  mounted  his  horse, 
and  rode  back  to  his  humble  home,  glad  to  have  done 
his  friend  Lord  Oldborough  a  service,  still  more  glad 
that  he  was  not  bound  to  the  minister  by  any  of  the 
chains  of  political  dependence.  Rejoiced  to  quit  Tour- 
ville  papers — state  intrigues — lists  of  enemies, — and  all 
the  necessity  for  reserve  and  management,  and  all  the 
turmoil  of  ambition. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

COUNT  ALTENBERG  arrived  at  Clermont-park,  and  as 
Lord  Oldborough  was  still  confined  by  the  gout,  Commis- 
sioner Falconer,  to  his  lady's  infinite  satisfaction,  was 
deputed  to  show  him  every  thing  that  was  worth  seeing 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  Every  morning  some  party 
was  formed  by  Mrs.  Falconer,  and  so  happily  arranged, 
that  her  Georgiana  and  the  count  were  necessarily 
thrown  together.  The  count  rode  extremely  well ;  Miss 
Falconers  had  been  taught  to  ride  in  a  celebrated  riding- 
house,  and  were  delighted  to  display  their  equestrian 
graces.  When  they  were  not  disposed  to  ride,  the 
count  had  a  phaeton,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  a  barouche ;  and 
either  in  the  phaeton,  or  the  barouche  seat,  Miss  Geor- 
giana Falconer  was  seated  with  the  count,  who,  as  she 
discovered,  drove  uncommonly  well. 

The  count  had  expressed  a  desire  to  see  the  place 
where  M.  de  Tourville  had  been  shipwrecked,  and  he 
really  wished  to  be  introduced  to  the  Percy  family,  of 
whom,  from  the  specimen  he  had  seen  in  Alfred,  and 
from  all  the  hospitality  they  had  shown  the  distressed 


70  PATRONAGK. 

mariners  (some  of  whom  were  his  countrymen),  he  had 
formed  a  favourable  opinion.  Half  his  wish  was  granted, 
the  rest  dispersed  in  empty  air.  Mrs.  Falconer  with 
alacrity  arranged  a  party  for  Percy-hall,  to  show  the 
count  the  scene  of  the  shipwreck.  She  should  be  so 
glad  to  see  it  herself,  for  she  was  absent  from  the  coun- 
try at  the  time  of  the  sad  disaster;  but  the  commissioner, 
who  knew  the  spot,  and  all  the  circumstances,  better 
than  any  other  person,  would  show  them  every  thing — 
and  Sir  Robert  Percy,  she  was  sure,  would  think  him- 
self much  honoured  by  Count  Altenberg's  visiting  his 
place. 

Count  Alfcenberg  had  some  confused  recollection  of 
Mr.  Alfred  Percy's  having  told  him  that  his  father  no 
longer  lived  at  Percy-hall ;  but  this  speech  of  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's led  the  count  to  believe  that  he  had  misunder 
stood  what  Alfred  had  said. 

The  party  arranged  for  Percy-hall  consisted  of  the 
Miss  Falconers,  the  two  Lady  Arlingtons,  and  some 
other  young  people,  who  were  at  Falconer-court.  It 
was  a  fine  morning,  Mrs.  Falconer  was  all  suavity  and 
smiles,  both  the  Miss  Falconers  in  charming  hopes,  and 
consequently  in  charming  spirits. 

Percy-hall  was  really  a  beautiful  place,  and  Miss  Ara- 
bella Falconer  now  looked  at  it  with  the  pleasure  of 
anticipated  possession.  Sir  Robert  Percy  was  not  at 
home,  he  had  been  obliged  that  morning  to  be  absent  on 
some  special  business  ;  but  he  had  left  orders  with  his 
steward  and  housekeeper  to  show  the  party  of  visiters 
the  house  and  grounds.  In  going  through  the  apart- 
ments, they  came  to  the  gallery  leading  to  the  library, 
where  they  were  stopped  by  some  workmen's  trestles, 
on  which  were  lying  two  painted  glass  windows,  one 
that  had  been  taken  down,  and  another  which  was  to  be 
put  in  its  stead.  While  the  workmen  were  moving  the 
obstacles  out  of  the  way,  the  company  had  leisure  to 
admire  the  painted  windows.  One  of  them  was  covered 
with  coats  of  arms :  the  other  represented  the  fire  at 
Percy-hall,  and  the  portrait  of  Caroline,  assisting  the 
old  nurse  down  the  staircase.  This  painting  immedi- 
ately fixed  Count  Altenberg's  eye,  and  Miss  Georgiana 
Falconer,  not  knowing  whose  portrait  it  was,  exclaimed, 
as  she  looked  at  the  figure  of  Caroline,  "  Beautiful !  Ex- 
quisite !  What  a  lovely  creature  that  is  assisting  th« 
old  woman !" 


PATRONAGE.  71 

<'  Yes,"  said  Count  Altenberg,  "  it  is  one  of  the  finest 
Countenances  I  ever  beheld." 

All  the  ladies  eagerly  pressed  forward  to  look  at  it. 

"  Beautiful !  Don't  you  think  it  is  something  like 
Lady  Anne  Cope  ?-"  said  Miss  Falconer. 

"  Oh !  dear,  no !"  cried  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer :  "  it 
is  a  great  deal  handsomer  than  any  of  the  Copes  ever 
were,  or  ever  will  be  !" 

"  It  has  a  look  of  Lady  Mary  Nesbitt,"  said  one  of  the 
Lady  Arlingtons. 

"  The  eyes  are  so  like  Lady  Coningsby,  who  is  my 
delight,"  said  Georgiana. 

"  And  it  has  quite  the  Arlington  nose,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, glancing  her  eye  upon  the  Lady  Arlingtons. 

Count  Altenberg,  without  moving  his  eye,  repeated, 
"  It  is  the  most  beautiful  face  I  ever  beheld." 

"  Not  nearly  so  beautiful  as  the  original,  sir,"  said  the 
painter. 

"  The  original  t — Is  it  a  copy  ?" 

41 A  portrait,  sir." 

"Oh!  a  family  portrait  of  one  of  our  great,  great 
grandmother  Percys,  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Georgiana, 
"  done  in  her  youth — in  a  fancy  piece,  you  know,  ac- 
cording to  the  taste  of  those  times — she  must  have  been 
superlatively  lovely." 

"  Ma'am,"  said  the  painter,  "  the  young  lady,  of 
whom  this  is  a  portrait,  is,  I  hope  and  believe,  now 
living." 

"  Where  1 — and  who  can  she  be  1 — for  I  am  sure  I  don't 
recollect  ever  having  seen  her  in  all  my  life — never  met 
her  in  town  any  where — Pray,  sir,  who  may  it  be  ?"  ad- 
ded she,  turning  to  the  artist,  with  a  mixture  of  affected 
negligence  and  real  pride. 

"  Miss  Caroline  Percy,  ma'am." 

"  A  daughter  of  Sir  Robert  Percy — of  the  gentleman 
of  this  house  V  said  Count  Altenberg  eagerly. 

Mrs.  Falconer,  and  her  daughter  Georgiana,  answered 
rapidly,  with  looks  of  alarm,  as  they  stood  a  little  behind 
the  count. 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,  Count  Altenberg,"  cried  Mrs.  Falconer, 
advancing,  "  not  a  daughter  of  the  gentleman  of  this 
house — another  family,  relations,  but  distant  relations 
of  the  commissioner's :  he  formerly  knew  something  of 
them,  but  we  know  nothing  of  them." 

The  painter  however  knew  a  great  deal,  and  seemed 


72  PATRONAGE. 

anxious  to  tell  all  he  knew :  but  Mrs.  Falconer  walked 
on  immediately,  saying,  "  This  is  our  way,  is  not  it  * 
This  leads  to  the  library,  where,  I  dare  say,  we  shall 
find  the  book  which  the  count  wanted."  The  count 
heard  her  not,  for  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  picture  he 
•was  listening  to  the  account  which  the  painter  was  giv- 
ing of  the  circumstance  it  recorded  of  the  fire  at  Percy- 
hall — of  the  presence  of  mind  and  humanity  of  Miss 
Caroline  Percy,  who  had  saved  the  life  of  the  poor  de- 
crepit woman,  who  in  the  picture  was  represented  as 
leaning  upon  her  arm.  The  painter  paused  when  he 
came  to  this  part  of  his  story — "  That  woman  was  my 
mother,  sir" — He  went  on,  and  with  all  the  eloquence 
of  filial  affection  and  of  gratitude,  pronounced  in  a  few 
words  a  panegyric  on  the  family  who  had  been  his  first 
and  his  best  benefactors :  all  who  heard  him  were 
touched  with  his  honest  warmth,  except  the  Miss  Fal- 
coners. 

"  I  dare  say  those  Percys  were  very  good  people  in 
their  day,"  said  Miss  Falconer ;  "  but  their  day  is  over, 
and  no  doubt  you'll  find,  in  the  present  possessor  of  the 
estate,  sir,  as  good  a  patron  at  least." 

The  artist  took  up  his  pencil  without  making  any 
reply,  and  went  on  with  some  heraldic  devices  he  was 
painting. 

"  I  am  amazed  how  you  could  see  any  likeness  in  that 
face  or  figure  to  Lady  Anne  Cope,  or  Lady  Mary  Nesbitt, 
or  any  of  the  Arlingtons,"  said  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer, 
looking  through  her  hand  at  the  portrait  of  Caroline : 
"  it's  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw,  certainly ; 
but  there's  nothing  of  an  air  of  fashion,  and  without 
that—" 

"  Count  Altenberg,  I  have  found  for  you  the  very  book 
I  heard  you  tell  the  commissioner  last  night  you  wished 
so  much  to  see,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  The  count  went 
forward  to  receive  the  book,  and  to  thank  the  lady  for 
her  polite  attention ;  she  turned  over  the  leaves,  and 
showed  him  some  uncommonly  fine  prints,  which  he 
was  bound  to  admire — and  while  he  was  admiring,  Mrs. 
Falconer  found  a  moment  to  whisper  to  her  daughter 
Georgiana,  "  Not  a  word  more  about  the  picture :  let  it 
alone,  and  it  is  only  a  picture — dwell  upon  it,  and  you 
make  it  a  reality." 

Miss  Georgiana  had  quickness  and  ability  sufficient  to 
feel  the  value  of  her  mother's  knowledge  of  the  world 


PATRONAGE.  73 

and  of  human  nature,  but  she  had  seldom  sufficient  com- 
mand of  temper  to  imitate  or  to  profit  by  Mrs.  Falconer's 
address.  On  this  occasion  she  contented  herself  with 
venting  her  spleen  on  the  poor  painter,  whose  colouring 
and  drapery  she  began  to  criticise  unmercifully.  Mrs 
Falconer,  however,  carried  off  the  count  with  her  into 
the  library,  and  kept  him  there,  till  the  commissioner, 
who  had  been  detained  in  the  neighbouring  village  by 
some  electioneering  business,  arrived;  and  then  they 
pursued  their  walk  together  through  the  park.  Miss 
Falconer  was  particularly  delighted  with  the  beauties 
of  the  grounds.  Miss  Georgiana,  recovering  her  good 
humour,  was  again  charming — and  all  went  on  well; 
till  they  came  near  the  sea-shore,  and  the  count  asked 
Commissioner  Falconer  to  show  him  the  place  where 
the  shipwreck  had  happened.  She  was  provoked  that 
his  attention  should  be  withdrawn  from*  her,  and  again 
by  these  Percys.  The  commissioner  called  to  one  of 
the  boatmen  who  had  been  ordered  to  be  in  readiness, 
and  asked  him  to  point  out  the  place  where  the  Dutch 
vessel  had  been  wrecked.  The  man,  who  seemed  rather 
surly,  replied  that  they  could  not  see  the  right  place 
where  they  stood,  and  if  they  had  a  mind  to  see  it, 
they  must  come  into  the  boat,  and  row  <z  piece  up 
farther. 

Now  some  of  these  town-bred  ladies  were  alarmed  at 
the  idea  of  going  to  sea,  and  though  Miss  Georgiana 
was  very  unwilling  to  be  separated  from  the  count,  and 
though  her  mother  encouraged  the  young  lady  to  van- 
quish her  fears  as  much  by  precept  and  as  little  by  ex- 
ample as  possible,  yet  when  she  was  to  be  handed  into 
the  boat,  she  drew  back  in  pretty  terror,  put  her  hands 
before  her  face,  and  protested  she  could  not  venture  even 
with  Count  Altenberg.  After  as  much  waste  of  words 
as  the  discussion  of  such  arrangements  on  a  party  of 
pleasure  usually  involves,  it  was  at  length  settled  that 
only  the  commissioner  should  accompany  the  count, 
that  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  should  pursue 
their  walk,  and  that  they  should  all  meet  again  at  the 
park-gate.  The  surly  boatman  rowed  off,  but  he  soon 
ceased  to  be  surly  when  the  count  spoke  of  the  humanity 
and  hospitality  which  had  been  shown  to  some  of  his 
countrymen  by  Mr.  Percy.  Immediately  the  boatman's 
tongue  was  loosed. 

"  Why,  ay,  sir,  if  you  bees  curious  about  that  there 

VOL.  XV.— D 


74  PATRONAQE. 

gentleman,  I  can  tell  you  a  deal  about  him.  But  them 
as  comes  to  see  the  new  man  does  not  covet  to  hear 
talk  of  the  old  master ;  but  nevertheless,  there's  none 
like  him — he  gave  me  and  wife  that  there  white  cottage 
yonder,  half-ways  up  the  bank,  where  you  see  the  smoke 
rising  between  the  trees — as  snug  a  cottage  it  is ! — But 
that  is  no  matter  to  you,  sir.  But  I  wish  you  had  but 
seed  him  the  night  of  the  shipwreck,  he  and  his  son,  God 
above  bless  him,  and  them — wherever  they  are,  if  they're 
above  ground,  I'd  row  out  the  worst  night  ever  we  had, 
to  set  my  ey«s  on  them  again  before  I  die,  but  for  a 
minute.  Ay,  that  night  of  the  shipwreck,  not  a  man 
was  willing  to  go  out  with  them,  or  could  be  got  out  the 
first  turn,  but  myself." 

Upon  this  text  he  spoke  at  large,  entering  into  a  most 
circumstantial  and  diffuse  history  of  the  shipwreck, 
mingling  his  own  praises  with  those  which  he  heartily 
bestowed  upon  the  Percys  of  the  right  good  old  branch. 
Commissioner  Falconer  meantime  was  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  throw  in  any  thing  in  favour  of  his  new  friend 
Sir  Robert  Percy ;  he  was  taking  pinch  after  pinch  of 
snuff,  looking  alternately  at  the  water  and  the  boat,  sit- 
ting stiffly  upright  in  anxious  silence.  Althoagh  in  the 
incessant  practice  of  suppressing  his  own  feelings,  cor- 
poreal and  mental,  from  respect  or  complaisance  to  his 
superiors  in  rank  and  station,  yet  he  presently  found  it 
beyond  the  utmost  efforts  of  his  courtly  philosophy  to 
endure,  his  qualms  of  mind  and  body.  Interrupting  the 
talkative  boatman,  he  first  conjured  the  orator  to  mind 
what  he  was  about ;  at  last,  Mr.  Falconer  complaining 
of  growing  very  sick,  the  count  gave  up  all  thoughts  of 
proceeding  farther,  and  begged  the  boatmen  to  put  them 
ashore  as  soon  as  they  could.  They  landed  near  the 
village,  which  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  pass 
through,  before  they  could  reach  the  appointed  place  of 
meeting.  The  poor  commissioner,  whose  stomach  was 
still  disordered,  and  whose  head  was  giddy,  observed 
that  they  had  yet  a  long  walk  to  take,  and  proposed 
sending  for  one  of  the  carriages — accordingly  they 
waited  for  it  at  the  village  inn.  The  commissioner,  after 
having  made  a  multitude  of  apologies  to  the  count,  re- 
tired to  rest  himself — during  his  absence  the  count,  who, 
wherever  he  was,  endeavoured  to  see  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  the  manners  of  the  people,  began  talking  to  the 
landlord  and  landlady.  Again  the  conversation  turned 


PATRONAGE.  75 

Upon  the  characters  of  the  late  and  the  present  possess- 
ors of  Percy-hall ;  and  the  good  people,  by  all  the  anec- 
dotes they  told,  and  still  more  by  the  warm  attachment 
they  expressed  for  the  old  banished  family,  increased 
every  moment  his  desire  to  be  personally  acquainted 
with  those  who  in  adversity  were  preferred  to  persons 
in  present  power  and  prosperity.  Count  Altenberg, 
young  as  he  was,  had  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  feel 
the  full  value  of  eulogiums  bestowed  on  those  who  are 
poor,  and  who  have  no  means  of  serving  in  any  way  the 
interests  of  their  panegyrists. 

When  the  carriage  came,  and  the  commissioner  was 
sufficiently  refitted  for  conversation,  the  count  repeat- 
edly expressed  his  earnest  wish  to  become  acquainted 
with  that  Mr.  Percy  and  his  family  to  whom  his  coun- 
trymen had  been  so  much  obliged,  and  of  whom  he  said 
he  had  this  morning  heard  so  many  interesting  anecdotes. 
The  commissioner  had  not  been  present  when  the  count 
saw  the  picture  of  Caroline,  nor  indeed  did  he  enter  into 
Mrs.  Falconer's  matrimonial  designs  for  her  daughter 
Georgiana.  The  commissioner  generally  saw  the  folly, 
and  despaired  of  the  success,  of  all  castle-building  but 
his  own,  and  his  castles  in  the  air  were  always  on  a 
political  plan.  So  without  difficulty  he  immediately 
replied  that  nothing  would  give  him  more  pleasure  than 
to  introduce  the  count  to  his  relations,  the  Percys.  The 
moment  this  was  mentioned,  however,  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
the  commissioner  saw  through  the  complacent  counte- 
nance, with  which  she  forced  herself  to  listen  to  him, 
that  he  had  made  some  terrible  blunder,  for  which  he 
should  have  to  answer  in  private. 

Accordingly  the  first  moment  they  were  alone,  Mrs. 
Falconer  reproached  him  with  the  rash  promise  he 
had  made.  "  I  shall  have  all  the  difficulty  in  the 
world  to  put  this  out  of  the  count's  head.  I  thought, 
Mr.  Falconer,  that  you  had  agreed  to  let  those  Percys 
drop." 

"  So  I  would  if  I  could,  my  dear ;  but  how  can  I,  when 
Lord  Oldborough  persists  in  holding  them  up  ?  You  must 
go  and  see  them  my  dear." 

"  1 !"  cried  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  look  of  horror :  "]I ! 
— not  1,  indeed!  Lord  Oldborough  holds  up  only  the 
gentlemen  of  the  family — his  lordship  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  ladies,  I  suppose.  Now,  you  know  visiting  can 
go  on  vastly  well,  to  all  eternity,  between  the  gentle- 
D2 


76  PATRONAGE. 

men  of  a  family  without  the  ladies  having  any  sort  of 
intimacy  or  acquaintance  even.  You  and  Mr.  Percy, 
if  it  is  necessary  for  appearance  sake  with  Lord  Old- 
borough — may  continue  upon  the  old  footing;  but  I 
charge  you,  commissioner,  do  not  involve  me — and 
whatever  happens,  don't  take  Count  Altenberg  with  you 
to  the  Hills." 

"Why  not,  my  dear?" 

"  My  dear,  I  have  my  reasons.  You  were  not  in  the 
gallery  at  Percy-hall  this  morning,  when  the  count  saw 
that  painted  glass  window  1" 

The  commissioner  begged  an  explanation  ;  but  when 
he  had  heard  all  Mrs.  Falconer's  reasons,  they  did 
not  seem  to  strike  him  with  the  force  she  desired  and 
expected. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  please,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  and  if 
I  can,  I  will  make  the  count  forget  my  promised  intro- 
duction to  the  Percys ;  but  all  the  time,  depend  upon  it, 
your  fears  and  your  hopes  are  both  equally  vain.  You 
ladies  are  apt  to  take  it  for  granted  that  men's  heads  are 
always  running  on  love." 

"  Young  men's  heads  sometimes  are,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coneuc  | 

"  Very  seldom  in  these  days,"  said  the  commissioner. 
"  And  love  altogether,  as  one  should  think  you  might 
know  by  this  time,  Mrs.  Falconer — a  sensible  woman  of 
the  world,  as  you  are ;  but  no  woman,  even  the  most 
sensible  can  ever  believe  it — love  altogether  has  sur- 
prisingly little  to  do  in  the  real  management  and  busi- 
ness of  the  world."  ] 

"  Surprisingly  little,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer,  placidly. 
"  But  seriously,  my  dear,  here  is  an  opportunity  of 
making  an  excellent  match  for  Georgiana,  if  you  will 
be  so  obliging  as  not  to  counteract  me."  I 

"  I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  counteract  you, 
my  dear  ;  but  it  will  never  do,"  said  Mr.  Falconer ;  "  and 
you  will  only  make  Georgiana  ridiculous,  as  she  has 
been  several  times  already,  from  the  failure  of  these 
love-matches.  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Falconer,  Count  Alten- 
berg is  no  more  thinking  of  love  than  I  am — nor  is  he  a 
man  in  the  least  likely  to  fall  in  love."  ; 

"  He  is  more  than  half  in  love  with  my  Georgiana 
already,"  said  the  mother,  "  if  I  have  any  eyes."  | 

"  You  have  eyes,  and  very  fine  eyes,  my  dear,  as 


PATRONAGE.  77 

everybody  knows,  and  no  one  better  than  myself— they 
have  but  one  defect." 
"  Defect !" 

"  They  sometimes  see  more  than  exists." 
*  "  You  would  not  be  so  incredulous,  Mr.  Falconer,  if 
you  had  seen  the  rapture  with  which  the  count  listens 
to  Georgiana  when  she  plays  on  the  harp.     He  is  pro- 
digiously fond  of  music." 

"  And  of  painting  too,"  said  the  commissioner ;  "  for  by 
your  account  of  the  matter,  he  seemed  to  have  been 
more  than  half  in  love  also  with  a  picture  this  morning." 
"  A  picture  is  no  very  dangerous  rival,  except  in  a 
modern  novel,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  But  beware, 
commissioner — and  remember,  I  understand  these  things 
— I  warn  you  in  time — beware  of  the  original  of  that 
picture,  and  never  again  talk  to  me  of  going  to  see 
those  Percys ;  for  though  the  girl  may  be  only  an  un- 
fashioned  country  beauty,  and  Georgiana  has  so  many 
polished  advantages,  yet  there  is  no  knowing  what  whim 
a  young  man  might  take  into  his  head." 

The  commissioner,  though  he  remained  completely 
of  his  own  opinion,  that  Mrs.  Falconer's  scheme  for 
Georgiana  would  never  do,  disputed  the  point  no  further, 
but  left  the  room,  promising  all  she  required,  for  prom- 
ises cost  him  nothing.     To  do  him  justice,  he  recol- 
lected and  endeavoured  to  the  best  of  his  power  to  keep 
his  word ;  for  the  next  morning  he  took  his  time  so 
well  to  propose  a  ride  to  the  Hills,  just  at  the  moment 
when  Lord  Oldborough  and  the  count  were  deep  in  a 
conversation  on  the  state  of  continental  politics,  that 
his  lordship  would  not  part  with  him.     The  commis- 
sioner paid  his  visit  alone,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  gave  him 
credit  for  his  address  ;  but  scarcely  had  she  congratu- 
lated herself,  when  she  was  thrown  again  into  terror — 
the  commissioner  had  suggested  to  Lord  Oldborough 
the  propriety  and  policy  of  giving,  while  he  was  in  the 
country,  a  popularity  ball !    His  lordship  assented,  and 
Mrs.  Falconer,  as  usual,  was  to  take  the  trouble  off  his 
hands,  and  to  give  an  entertainment  to  his  lordship's 
friends.     Lord  Oldborough  had  not  yet  recovered  from 
the  gout,  and  he  was  glad  to  accept  of  her  offer :  his 
lordship  not  being  able  to  appear,  or  to  do  the  honours 
of  the  fete,  was  a  sufficient  apology  for  his  not  giving  it 
at  Clermont-park. 
The  obsequious  commissioner  begged  to  have  a  list 


78  PATRONAGE. 

of  any  friends  whom  Lord  Oldborough  particularly 
wished  to  have  invited  ;  but  his  lordship,  with  a  look  of 
absence,  replied,  that  he  left  all  that  entirely  to  Mrs. 
Falconer :  however,  the  very  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  the  commissioner  paid  his  visit  alone  at  the 
Hills,  Lord  Oldborough  put  into  his  hands  a  list  of  the 
friends  who  he  wished  should  be  invited  to  the  ball,  and 
at  the  head  of  his  list  were  the  Percys. 

"  The  Percys !  the  very  people  I  first  thought  of !" 
said  Mr.  Falconer,  commanding  his  countenance  care- 
fully :  "  but  I  fear  we  cannot  hope  to  have  them,  they 
are  at  such  a  distance,  and  they  have  no  carriage." 

"  Any  of  my  carriages,  all  of  them,  shall  be  at  their 
command,"  said  Lord  Oldborough. 

The  commissioner  reported  this  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  ob- 
serving that  he  had  gone  to  the  very  brink  of  offending 
Lord  Oldborough  to  oblige  her,  as  he  knew  by  his  lord- 
ship's look  and  tone  of  voice ;  and  that  nothing  now 
could  be  done  but  to  visit  the  Percys,  and  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  to  send  them  a  card  of  invitation  for  the 
ball. 

*'  And,  my  dear,  whatever  you  do,  I  am  sure  will  be 
done  with  a  good  grace,"  added  the  commissioner,  ob- 
serving that  his  lady  looked  excessively  discomfited. 

"  Very  well,  commissioner :  you  will  have  your  daugh- 
ter upon  your  hands,  that's  all." 

"  I  should  be  as  sorry  for  that,  my  love,  as  you  could 
be  ;  but  what  can  be  done  *  we  must  not  lose  the  sub- 
stance in  running  after  the  shadow.  Lord  Oldborough 
might  turn  short  round  upon  us." 

"  Not  the  least  likely  upon  such  a  trifling  occasion  as 
this,  where  no  politics  are  in  question.  What  can  Mrs. 
or  Miss  Percy's  being  or  not  being  at  this  ball  signify  to 
Lord  Oldborough  1 — a  man  who  never  in  his  life  thought 
of  balls  or  cared  any  thing  about  women,  and  these  are 
women  whom  he  has  never  seen.  What  interest  can  it 
possibly  be  of  Lord  Oldborough's  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear — I  don't  see  any  imme- 
diate interest.  But  there's  an  old  private  friendship  in 
the  case.  Some  way  or  other,  I  declare  I  cannot  tell 
you  how,  that  old  cousin  Percy  of  mine  has  contrived 
to  get  nearer  to  Lord  Oldborough  than  any  one  living 
ever  could  do — nearer  to  his  heart." 

"  Heart !— Private  friendship  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, with  a  tone  of  ineffable  contempt.  "  Well,  1  only 


PATRONAGE.  79 

wish  you  had  said  nothing  about  the  matter  to  Lord 
Oldborough  ;  I  could  have  managed  it  myself.  Was  there 
ever  such  want  of  address !  When  you  saw  the  Percys 
at  the  head  of  the  list,  was  that  a  time  to  say  any  thing 
about  your  fears  of  their  not  coming1?  Do  you  think 
Lord  Oldborough  could  not  translate  fears  into  hopes  ? 
Then  to  mention  their  having  no  carriages ! — when, 
if  you  had  kept  your  own  counsel,  that  would  have 
been  our  sufficient  excuse  at  last.  They  must  have  re- 
fused :  nothing  need  have  been  said  about  it  till  the 
night  of  the  ball ;  and  I  would  lay  my  life,  Lord  Old- 
borough  would  never,  in  the  mean  time,  have  thought 
ef  it,  or  of  them.  But  so  silly  !  to  object  in  that  way, 
when  you  know  that  the  slightest  contradiction  wakens 
Lord  Oldborough's  will ;  and  then  indeed  you  might  as 
well  talk  to  his  own  Jupiter  Tonans.  If  his  lordship 
had  set  a  beggar-woman's  name  at  the  head  of  his  list, 
and  you  had  objected  that  she  had  no  carriage,  he  would 
directly  have  answered  '  She  shall  have  mine.'  Bless 
me !  It's  wonderful  that  people  can  pique  themselves 
on  address,  and  have  so  little  knowledge  of  character." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  commissioner,  "  if  you  reproach 
me  from  this  time  ttll  to-morrow,  the  end  of  the  matter 
will  be,  that  you  must  go  and  see  the  Percys.  I  say, 
Mrs.  Falconer,"  added  he,  assuming  a  peremptory  tone, 
for  which  he  had  acquired  a  taste  from  Lord  Oldborough, 
but  had  seldom  courage  or  opportunity  to  indulge  in  it, 
"  I  say,  Mrs.  Falconer,  the  thing  must  be  done."  He 
rang  the  bell  in  a  gloriously  authoritative  manner,  and 
ordered  the  carriage. 

A  visit  paid  thus  upon  compulsion  was  not  likely  to 
be  very  agreeable  ;  but  the  complaints  against  the  roads, 
the  dreadful  distance,  and  the  horrid  necessity  of  being 
civil,  need  not  be  recorded.  Miss  Falconers  exclaimed, 
when  they  at  last  came  to  the  Hills,  "  La !  I  did  not 
think  it  was  so  tolerable  a  place !"  Miss  Ceorgiana  hoped 
that  they  should,  at  least,  see  Miss  Caroline — she  owned 
she  was  curious  to  see  that  beautiful  original,  of  whom 
the  painter  at  Percy-hall,  and  her  brother  Buckhurst, 
had  said  so  much. 

Mrs.  Percy  and  Rosamond  only  were  at  home.  Car- 
oline had  taken  a  walk  with  her  father  .to  a  considera- 
ble distance. 

Mrs.  Falconer,  who  had,  by  this  time,  completely  re- 
eoveied  her  self-command,  presented  herself  with  such 


SO  PATRONAGE. 

smiling  grace,  and  expressed,  in  such  a  tone  of  cordiality, 
her  earnest  desire,  now  that  she  had  been  so  happy  as 
to  get  into  the  country,  to  enjoy  the  society  of  her 
friends  and  relations,  that  Rosamond  was  quite  charmed 
into  a  belief  of  at  least  half  of  what  she  said.  Rosa- 
mond was  willing  to  attribute  all  that  had  appeared,  par- 
ticularly of  late,  in  contradiction  of  this  lady's  present 
professions,  to  some  political  motives  of  Commissioner 
Falconer,  whom  she  disliked  for  his  conduct  to  Buck- 
hurst,  and  whom  she  was  completely  willing  to  give  up, 
as  a  worldly-minded  courtier.  But  while  the  manners 
of  the  mother  operated  thus  with  Rosamond  in  fa- 
vour of  her  moral  character,  even  Rosamond's  easy 
faith  and  sanguine  benevolence  could  not  see  or  hear 
any  thing  from  the  daughters  that  confirmed  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's flattering  speeches  ;  they  sat  in  languid  silence, 
looking  upon  the  animate  and  inanimate  objects  in  the 
room  with  the  same  air  of  supercilious  listlessness.  They 
could  not  speak  so  as  to  be  heard,  they  could  not  really 
understand  any  thing  that  Rosamond  said  to  them :  they 
seemed  as  if  their  bodies  had  been  brought  into  the 
room  by  mistake,  and  their  souls  left  behind  them  :  not 
that  they  were  in  the  least  timid,  or  abashed ;  no,  they 
seemed  fully  satisfied  with  their  own  inanity,  and  proud 
to  show  that  they  had  absolutely  no  ideas  in  common 
with  those  into  whose  company  they  had  been  thus  un- 
fortunately compelled.  Once  or  twice  they  turned  their 
heads  with  some  signs  of  vivacity,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  when  they  expected  to  see  Miss  Caroline  Percy 
enter :  but  though  the  visit  was  protracted,  in  hopes  of 
her  return,  yet  at  last  they  were  obliged  to  depart  with- 
out having  their  curiosity  satisfied. 

Mrs.  Falconer's  fears  of  rivalship  for  her  Georgiana 
were  not  diminished  by  this  visit.  By  those  of  the 
family  whom  she  saw  this  day,  she  judged  of  Caroline, 
whom  she  had  not  seen ;  and  she  had  tact  sufficient  to 
apprehend,  that  the  conversation  and  manners  of  Mrs. 
Percy  and  of  Rosamond  were  such  as  might,  perhaps, 
please  a  well-bred  and  well-informed  foreigner  better, 
even,  than  the  fashionable  tone  and  air  of  the  day,  of 
which  he  had  not  been  long  enough  in  England  to  ap- 
preciate the  conventional  value.  Still  Mrs.  Falconer 
had  a  lingering  hope  that  some  difficulties  about  dress, 
or  some  hippy  cold,  might  prevent  these  dangerous 
Percys  from  accepting  the  invitation  to  the  ball.  Wheo 


PATRONAGE.  81 

their  answers  to  her  card  came,  she  gave  one  hasty 
glance  at  it. 

"  Will  do  themselves  the  honour." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  alarming  yourself  unnecessarily," 
cried  the  commissioner,  who  pitied  the  distress  visible, 
at  least  to  his  eyes,  in  her  countenance  ;  or  who  feared, 
perhaps,  a  renewal  of  reproaches  for  his  own  want  of 
address,  "  quite  unnecessarily,  believe  me.  I  have  had 
a  great  deal  of  conversation  with  Count  Altenberg  since 
I  spoke  of  him  to  you  last,  and  am  confirmed  in  my 
opinion  that  he  merely  feels  the  curiosity  natural  to  an 
enlightened  traveller  to  become  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Percy,  a  man  who  has  been  described  to  him  as  a  per- 
son of  abilities.  And  he  wants  to  thank  him  in  the 
name  of  his  countrymen,  who  were  assisted,  you  know 
I  told  you,  by  the  Percys,  at  the  time  of  the  shipwreck. 
You  will  see,  my  dear,  that  the  ladies  of  the  family  will 
be  nothing  to  him." 

Mrs.  Falconer  sighed,  and  bit  her  lips. 

"  In  half  an  hour's  conversation  I  would  engage  to 
find  out  the  ruling  passion  of  any  man,  young  or  old. 
Now,  remember  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Falconer,  Count  Alten- 
berg's  ruling  passion  is  ambition." 

"  Ruling  passion  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Falconer ; ."  one  of 
your  book- words,  and  book-notions,  that  are  always  mis- 
leading you  in  practice.  Ruling  passion ! — Metaphysi- 
cal nonsense  !  As  if  men  were  such  consistent  crea- 
tures as  to  be  ruled  regularly  by  one  passion — when 
often  ten  different  passions  pull  a  man,  even  before 
your  face,  ten  different  ways,  and  one  cannot  tell  one 
hour  what  will  be  the  ruling  passion  of  the  next.  Tell 
me  the  reigning  fashion,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  ruling 
passion ! — Luckily,"  continued  Mrs.  Falconer,  after  a 
pause  of  deep  consideration,  "  Georgiana  is  very  fash- 
ionable— one  of  the  most  fashionable  young  women  in 
England,  as  the  count  might  have  seen  when  he  was  in 
London.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  whether  he  is 
judge  enough  of  English  manners — Georgiana  must  be 
well  dressed — and  I  know  the  count's  taste  in  dress ;  I 
have  made  myself  mistress  of  that — Commissioner,  I 
must  trouble  you  for  some  money." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer,  I  have  no  money ;  and  if  I  had,"  said 

the  commissioner,  who  always  lost  his  temper  when 

that  subject  was  touched  upon,  "  If  I  had,  I  would  not 

give  it  to  you  to  throw  away  upon  such  a  losing  game — 

D3 


82  PATRONAGE. 

a  nonsensical  speculation !  Georgiana  has  not  the  least 
chance,  nor  has  any  other  Englishwoman,  were  she  as 
handsome  as  Venus,  and  dressed  in  bank  notes — why, 
Mrs.  Falconer,  since  you  put  me  in  a  passion,  I  must 
tell  you  a  secret." 

But  checking  himself,  Mr.  Falconer  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment silent,  and  went  on  with,  "  Count  Altenberg  has 
made  up  his  quarrel  with  the  hereditary  prince,  and  I 
have  it  from  undoubted  authority,  that  he  is  to  be  the 
prince's  prime  minister  when  he  comes  to  the  throne ; 
and  the  present  prince,  you  know,  as  Cunningham  says, 
is  so  infirm  and  asthmatic,  that  he  may  be  carried  off 
at  any  moment." 

"  Very  well — very  likely — I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer :  "  but  where's  the  secret  1" 

"  I've  thought  better  of  that,  and  I  cannot  tell  it  to 
you.  But  this  much  I  tell  you  positively,  Mrs.  Falconer, 
that  you  will  lose  your  labour,  if  you  speculate  upon  the 
count  for  Georgiana." 

"  Is  he  married !  Answer  me  that  question,  and  I 
will  ask  no  more — and  that  I  have  a  right  to  ask." 

"  No — not  married ;  but  I  can  tell  no  more.  Only  let 
me  beg  that  you  will  just  put  all  love  notions  out  of 
Georgiana's  head  and  your  own,  or  you'll  make  the  girl 
ridiculous,  and  expose  yourself,  my  dear.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  let  there  be  no  deficiency  of  attention  to  the 
count,  for  all  our  civilities  to  him  will  pay  a  hundred- 
fold, and,  perhaps,  sooner  than  you  expect — for  he  may 
be  prime  minister  and  prime  favourite  at  Cunning- 
ham's court  in  a  month,  and  of  course  will  have  it  in  his 
power  to  forward  Cunningham's  interests.  That  is 
what  I  look  to,  Mrs.  Falconer ;  for  I  am  long-sighted  in 
my  views,  as  you  will  find." 

"  Well,  time  will  show.  I  am  glad  you  tell  me  he 
positively  is  not  married,"  concluded  Mrs.  Falconer : 
"  as  to  the  rest,  we  shall  see." 


83 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  evening  appointed  for  Mrs.  Falconer's  ball  at 
length  arrived ;  and  all  the  neighbouring  gentry  assem- 
bled at  Falconer-court.  They  were  received  by  Mrs. 
Falconer  in  a  splendid  salon,  new  furnished  for  this 
occasion,  which  displayed  in  its  decorations  the  utmost 
perfection  of  modern  taste  and  magnificence. 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  fitted,  both  by  art  and  nature,  to 
adorn  a  ball-room,  and  conduct  a  ball.  With  that  ease 
of  manner  which  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  world  and 
long  practice  alone  can  give,  she  floated  round  the 
circle,  conscious  that  she  was  in  her  element.  Her  eye, 
with  one  glance,  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  assem- 
bly ;  her  ear  divided  itself  among  a  multitude  of  voices ; 
and  her  attention  diffused  itself  over  all  with  equal 
grace.  Yet  that  attention,  universal  as  it  seemed,  was 
nicely  discriminative.  Mistress  of  the  art  of  pleasing, 
and  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  the  shades  of  polite- 
ness, she  knew  how  to  dispose  them  so  as  to  conceal 
their  boundaries,  and  even  their  gradation,  from  att  but 
the  most  skilful  observers.  They  might,  indeed,  have 
formed,  from  Mrs.  Falconer's  reception  of  each  of  her 
guests,  an  exact  estimate  of  their  rank,  fashion,  and 
consequence  in  the  world ;  for  by  these  standards  she 
regulated  her  opinion,  and  measured  her  regard.  Every 
one  present  knew  this  to  be  her  theory,  and  observed  it 
to  be  her  practice  towards  others ;  but  each  flattered 
themselves  by  turns  that  they  discovered  in  her  man- 
ner a  personal  exception  in  their  own  favour.  In  the 
turn  of  her  countenance,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  her 
smile  or  her  anxiety,  in  her  distant  respect  or  her  affec- 
tionate familiarity,  some  distinction  was  discerned 
peculiar  to  each  individual. 

The  Miss  Falconers,  stationary  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  seemed  to  have  adopted  manners  diametrically 
opposite  to  those  of  their  mother  :  attraction  being  the 
principle  of  the  mother,  repulsion  of  the  daughters. 
Encircled  among  a  party  of  young  female  friends, 
Miss  Falconers,  with  high-bred  airs,  confined  to  their 
own  coterie  their  exclusive  attention. 


84  PATRONAGE. 

They  left  to  their  mother  the  responsibility  and  all 
the  labour  of  doing  the  honours  of  her  own  house,  while 
they  enjoyed  the  glory  of  being  remarked  and  wondered 
at  by  half  the  company;  a  circumstance  which,  far 
from  embarrassing,  seemed  obviously  to  increase  their 
gayety. 

The  ball  could  not  begin  till  the  band  of  a  regiment, 
quartered  in  the  neighbourhood,  arrived.  While  they 
were  waiting  for  the  music,  the  Miss  Falconers  and 
their  party  stationed  themselves  directly  opposite  to  the 
entrance  of  the  salon,  so  as  to  have  a  full  view  of  the 
antechamber  through  which  the  company  were  to  pass 
— no  one  passed  uncensured  by  this  confederacy.  The 
first  coup-d'ceil  decided  the  fate  of  all  who  appeared,  and 
each  of  the  fair  judges  vied  with  the  others  in  the  seve- 
rity of  the  sentence  pronounced  on  the  unfortunate  per- 
sons who  thus  came  before  their  merciless  tribunal. 

"  But  I  am  astonished  the  Percys  do  not  make  their 
appearance,"  cried  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer. 

"  Has  Sir  Robert  Percy  any  one  with  him  ]"  asked 
one  of  the  young  ladies. 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  Sir  Robert  Percy,"  replied 
Miss  Georgiana,  "  but  of  the  other  branch,  the  fallen 
branch  of  the  Percys — our  relations  too — but  we  know 
nothing  of  them — only  mamma  was  obliged  to  ask  them 
for  to-night. — And,  Bell,  only  conceive  how  horribly 
provoking!  because  they  come,  we  sha'n't  have  Sir 
Robert  Percy — just  sent  to  excuse  himself." 

"  Abominable  !  Now,  really  ! — And  for  people  quite 
out  of  the  world,  that  nobody  ever  heard  of,  except  Lord 
Oldborough,  who,  ages  ago,  had  some  political  con- 
nexion, I  think  they  say,  with  the  father,"  paid  Miss 
Arabella. 

"  No,  tbey  met  abroad,  or  something  of  that  sort," 
replied  Georgiana. 

"  Was  that  it  ?  Very  likely — I  know  nothing  about 
them :  I  only  wish  they  had  staid  at  home,  where  they 
are  so  fond  of  staying,  I  hear.1"  You  know,  Georgiana, 
Buckhurst  told  us,  that  when  they  had  something  to  live 
upon  they  never  lived  like  other  people,  but  always 
were  buried  alive  in  the  country ;  and  Lady  Jane  Gran- 
ville,  with  her  own  lips,  told  me,  that,  even  since  they 
lost  their  fortune,  she  had  asked  one  of  these  girls  to 
town  with  her  and  to  Tunbridge — Now  only  conceive 
how  kind!  and  what  an  advantage  that  would  have 


PATRONAGE.  85 

been — And,  can  you  believe  it  1  Mr.  Percy  was  so  un- 
accountable, and  they  all  so  odd,  that  they  refused — 
Lady  Jane,  of  course,  will  never  ask  them  again.  But 
now,  must  not  they  be  the  silliest  creatures  in  the 
universe  ?" 

"  Silly  !  Oh  !  dear,  no :  there  you  are  wrong,  Bell ; 
for  you  know  they  are  all  so  wise,  and  so  learned,  so 
blue,  such  a  deep  blue,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  that 
for  my  part,  I  shall  never  dare  to  open  my  lips  before 
them." 

"  Fortunately,"  said  one  of  the  young  ladies,  "  you 
have  not  much  to  fear  from  their  learning  at  a  ball ;  and 
as  dancers  I  don't  apprehend  you  have  much  to  dread 
from  any  of  them,  even  from  the  beauty." 

"  Why,  scarcely,"  said  Miss  Georgiana :  "  I  own  I 
shall  be  curious  to  see  how  they  will  gel  on — '  comment 
ces  savantes  se  tireront  d'affaires  I  wonder  they  are  not 
here.  Keep  your  eye  on  the  door,  dear  Lady  Frances 
— I  would  not  miss  their  entree  for  millions." 

In  vain  eyes  and  glasses  were  fixed  in  expectation 
of  the  arrival  of  these  devoted  objects  of  ridicule — 
another,  and  another,  and  another  came,  but  not  the 
Percys. 

The  band  was  now  ready,  and  began  to  play — Count 
Altenberg  entered  the  room.  Quick  as  grace  can  ven- 
ture to  move,  Mrs.  Falconer  glided  to  receive  him. 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  at  the  same  moment,  com- 
posed her  features  into  their  most  becoming  position, 
and  gave  herself  a  fine  air  of  the  head.  The  count 
bowed  to  her — she  fanned  herself,  and  her  eye  involun- 
tarily glanced,  first  at  a  brilliant  star  he  wore,  and  then 
at  her  mother,  while,  with  no  small  degree  of  anxiety, 
she  prepared  to  play  off,  on  this  decisive  evening,  all 
her  artillery,  to  complete  her  conquest — to  complete 
her  victory,  for  she  flattered  herself  that  only  the  finish- 
ing blow  was  wanting.  In  this  belief  her  female  com- 
panions contributed  to  confirm  her,  though  probably 
they  were  all  the  time  laughing  at  her  vanity. 

Mrs.  Falconer  requested  Count  Altenberg  to  open  the 
ball  with  Lady  Frances  Arlington.  After  having  obeyed 
her  orders,  he  next  led  out  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer, 
evidently  to  her  satisfaction  ;  the  more  so,  as  she  was 
conscious  of  being  at  that  moment  the  envy  of  at  least 
half  the  company. 

Count  Altenberg,  quite  unconscious  of  being  himself 


88  PATRONAGE. 

the  object  of  any  attention,  seemed  to  think  only  of 
showing  his  partner  to  advantage ;  if  he  danced  well,  it 
appeared  to  be  only  because  he  habitually  moved  with 
ease  and  dignity,  and  that  whatever  he  did  he  looked 
like  a  gentleman.  His  fair  partner  danced  admirably, 
and  now  surpassed  herself.  , 

It  was  repeated  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  that  Colonel  Bre- 
men, the  count's  friend,  had  told  some  one  that  the 
count  had  declared  he  had  never  seen  any  thing  equal 
to  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  except  at  the  opera  at 
Paris.  At  this  triumphant  moment  Miss  Georgiana 
could  have  seen,  with  security  and  complacency,  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Caroline  Percy.  The  more  prudent 
mother,  however,  was  well  satisfied  with  her  absence. 
Every  thing  conspired  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  satisfaction. 
The  ball  was  far  advanced,  and  no  Percys  appeared. 
Mrs.  Falconer  wondered,  and  deplored,  and  at  length  it 
came  near  the  hour  when  supper  was  ordered — the 
commissioner  inquired  whether  Mrs.  Falconer  was  cer- 
tain that  she  had  named  the  right  day  on  the  card  ? 

"  Oh  I  certain — But  it  is  now  so  late,  I  am  clear  they 
will  not  be  here  to-night." 

"  Very  extraordinary,  to  keep  Lord  Oldborough's  car- 
riage and  servants !"  said  the  commissioner:  "they  went 
in  time,  I  am  sure,  for  I  saw  them  set  out." 

"  All  1  know  is,  that  we  have  done  every  thing  that 
is  proper,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  and  Lord  Oldborough 
cannot  blame  us^-as  to  the  count,  he  seems  quite  con- 
lent." 

Mrs.  Falconer's  accent  seemed  to  imply  something 
more  than  content ;  but  this  was  not  a  proper  time  or 
place  to  contest  the  point.  The  husband  passed  on, 
saying  to  himself  "  Absurd !"  The  wife  went  on,  saying 
"  Obstinate !" 

Count  Altenberg  had  led  his  partner  to  a  seat,  and  as 
soon  as  he  quitted  her,  the  young  ladies  of  her  party  all 
flattered  her,  in  congratulatory  whispers :  one  observed 
that  there  was  certainly  something  very  particular  in 
Count  Altenberg's  manner,  when  he  first  spoke  to  Miss 
Georgiana  Falconer ;  another  remarked  that  he  always 
spoke  to  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  with  emotion  and 
embarrassment ;  a  third  declared  that  her  eye  was  fixed 
upon  the  count,  and  she  saw  him  several  times  change 
colour — all,  in  short,  agreed  that  the  count's  heart  was 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer's  devoted  prize.  She  the 


PATRONAGE.  87 

while,  with  well-affected  incredulity  and  secret  com- 
placency, half  repressed  and  half  encouraged  these  re- 
marks by  frequent  exclamations  of  "  La !  how  can  you 
think  so ! — Why  will  you  say  such  things ! — Dear !  how 
can  you  be  so  tormenting — so  silly,  now,  to  have  such 
fancies ! — But  did  he  really  change  colour  1" — In  love 
with  her !  She  wondered  how  such  an  idea  could  ever 
come  into  their  heads — she  should,  for  her  part,  never 
have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing — indeed  she  was  positive 
they  were  mistaken.  Count  Altenberg  in  love  with  her ! 
— O  no,  there  could  be  nothing  in  it. 

While  she  spoke,  her  eyes  followed  the  count,  who, 
quite  unconscious  of  his  danger,  undisturbed  by  any 
idea  of  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  and  love,  two  ideas 
which  probably  never  had  entered  his  mind  together, 
was  carelessly  walking  down  the  room,  his  thoughts 
apparently  occupied  with  the  passing  scene.  He  had 
so  much  the  habit  of  observing  men  and  manners,  with- 
out appearing  to  observe  them,  that,  under  an  air  of 
gayety,  he  carried  his  understanding,  as  it  were,  incog- 
nito. His  observation  glanced  on  all  the  company  as 
he  passed.  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  lost  sight  of  him 
as  he  reached  the  end  of  the  saloon  ;  he  disappeared  in 
the  antechamber. 

Soon  afterward  a  report  reached  her  that  the  Percy 
family  were  arrived ;  that  Count  Altenberg  had  been 
particularly  struck  by  the  sight  of  one  of  the  Miss  Percys, 
and  had  been  overheard  to  whisper  to  his  friend  Colonel 
Bremen,  "  Very  like  the  picture !  but  still  more  mind  in 
the  countenance !" 

At  hearing  this,  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  grew  first 
red  and  then  turned  pale ;  Mrs.  Falconer,  though  scarcely 
less  confounded,  never  changed  a  muscle  of  her  face, 
but  leaving  everybody  to  choose  their  various  comments 
upon  the  count's  words,  and  simply  saying,  "  Are  the 
Percys  come  at  last  1"  she  won  her  easy  way  through 
the  crowd,  whispering  to  young  Petcalf  as  she  passed, 
"  Now  is  your  time,  Petcalf,  my  good  creature — Geor- 
giana is  disengaged." 

Before  Mrs.  Falconer  got  to  the  antechamber,  another 
report  met  her,  "  that  the  Percys  had  been  overturned, 
and  had  been  terribly  hurt." 

"  Overturned  ! — terribly  hurt ! — Good  heavens !"  cried 
Mrs.  Falconer,  as  she  entered  the  antechamber.  But 
the  next  person  told  her  they  were  not  in  the  least  hurt 


88  PATRONAQE. 

— still  pressing  forward,  she  exclaimed,  "  Mrs.  Percy ! 
Where  is  Mrs.  Percy  ?  My  dear  madam !  what  has 
happened!  Come  the  wrong  road,  did  you! — broken 
bridge — And  were  you  really  overturned  V 

"  No,  no,  only  obliged  to  get  out  and  walk  a  little 
way." 

"  Oh !  I  am  sorry — But  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  all 
safe  ! — When  it  grew  late  I  grew  so  uneasy  !"  Then 
turning  towards  Caroline,  "  Miss  Caroline  Percy,  I  am 
sure,  though  I  had  never,  till  now,  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing her." 

An  introduction  of  Caroline  by  Mrs.  Percy,  in  due 
form,  took  place.  Mrs.  Falconer  next  recognised  Mr. 
Percy,  declared  he  did  not  look  a  day  older  than  when 
she  had  seen  him  fifteen  years  before — then  recurring 
to  the  ladies,  "  But  my  dear  Mrs.  Percy,  are  you  sure 
that  your  shoes  are  not  wet  through  ? — Oh !  my  dear 
madam,  Miss  Percy's  are  terribly  wet !  and  Miss  Caro- 
line's ! — Positively,  the  young  ladies  must  go  to  my 
dressing-room — the  shoes  must  be  dried."  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner said  that  perhaps  her  daughters  could  accommo- 
date the  Miss  Percys  with  others. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Rosamond  protested  her  shoes 
were  not  wet,  and  that  her  sister's  were  perfectly  dry ; 
a  few  specks  on  their  white  justified  Mrs.  Falconer's 
apprehensions. 

"  Where  is  my  Arabella  1  If  there  was  anybody  I 
could  venture  to  trouble — " 

Count  Altenberg  instantly  offered  his  services. 

"  Impossible  to  trouble  you,  count !  But  since  you 
are  so  very  good,  perhaps  you  could  find  one  of  my 
daughters  for  me — Miss  Falconer — if  .you  are  so  kind, 
sir — Georgiana  I  am  afraid  is  dancing." 

Miss  Falconer  was  found,  and  despatched  with  the 
Miss  Percys,  in  spite  of  all  they  could  say  to  the  con- 
trary, to  Mrs.  Falconer's  dressing-room.  Rosamond 
was  permitted,  without  much  difficulty,  to  do  as  she 
pleased ;  but  Mrs.  Falconer's  infinite  fears  lest  Caroline 
should  catch  her  death  of  cold  could  not  be  appeased, 
till  she  had  submitted  to  change  her  shoes. 

"  Caroline !"  said  Rosamond,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Caro- 
line !  do  not  put  on  those  shoes — they  are  too  large — 
you  will  never  be  able  to  dance  in  them." 

"  I  know  that — but  I  am  content.  It  is  better  to  yield 
than  to  debate  the  point  any  longer,"  said  Caroline. 


PATRONAGE.  89 

When  they  returned  to  the  ball-room,  Count  Alten- 
berg  was  in  earnest  conversation  with  Mr.  Percy ;  but 
Mrs.  Falconer  observed  that  the  count  saw  Miss  Caro- 
line Percy  the  moment  she  reappeared. 

"  Now  is  not  it  extraordinary,"  thought  she,  "  when 
Georgiana  dances  so  well!  is  infinitely  more  fashion- 
able, and  so  charmingly  dressed  !  What  can  strike  him 
so  much  in  this  girl's  appearance  V 

It  was  not  her  appearance  that  struck  him.  He  was 
too  well  accustomed  to  see  beauty  and  fashion  in  public 
places  to  be  caught  at  first  sight  by  a  handsome  face, 
or  by  a  young  lady's  exhibition  of  her  personal  graces 
at  a  ball ;  but  a  favourable  impression  had  been  made  on 
his  mind  by  what  he  had  previously  heard  of  Miss  Caro- 
line Percy's  conduct  and  character :  her  appearance  con- 
firmed this  impression  precisely,  because  she  had  not  the 
practised  air  of  a  professed  beauty,  because  she  did  not 
seem  in  the  least  to  be  thinking  of  herself,  or  to  expect 
admiration.  This  was  really  uncommon,  and  therefore 
it  fixed  the  attention  of  a  man  like  Count  Altenberg. 
He  asked  Caroline  to  dance ;  she  declined  dancing. 
Mr.  Temple  engaged  Rosamond,  and  the  moment  he  led 
her  away,  the  count  availed  himself  of  her  place,  and  a 
conversation  commenced,  which  soon  made  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner regret  that  Caroline  had  declined  dancing.  Though 
the  count  was  a  stranger  to  the  Percy  family,  yet  there 
were  many  subjects  of  common  interest  of  which  he 
knew  how  to  avail  himself.  He  began  by  speaking  of 
Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  of  the  pleasure  he  had  had  in  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  him,  of  the  circumstance  which  led 
to  this  acquaintance  :  then  he  passed  to  Lord  Oldborough 
— to  M.  de  Tourville — to  the  shipwreck.  He  paused  at 
Percy-hall,  for  he  felt  for  those  to  whom  he  was  speak- 
ing. They  understood  him,  but  they  did  not  avoid  the 
subject ;  he  then  indulged  himself  in  the  pleasure  of  re- 
peating some  of  the  expressions  of  attachment  to  their 
old  landlord,  and  of  honest  affection  and  gratitude,  which 
he  had  heard  from  the  peasants  in  the  village. 

Mrs.  Falconer  moved  away  the  moment  she  foresaw 
this  part  of  the  conversation ;  but  she  was  only  so  far 
removed  as  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  her  taking  any 
part  in  it,  or  of  appearing  to  hear  what  it  might  be  awk- 
ward for  her  to  hear,  considering  her  intimacy  with  Sir 
Robert  Percy.  She  began  talking  to  an  old  lady  about 
her  late  illness,  of  which  she  longed  to  hear  from  her 


90  PATRONAGE. 

own  lips  all  the  particulars ;  and  while  the  old  lady  told 
her  case,  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and 
making,  at  proper  intervals,  all  the  appropriate  changes 
of  countenance  requisite  to  express  tender  sympathy, 
alarm,  horror,  astonishment,  and  joyful  congratulation, 
contrived,  at  the  same  time,  through  the  whole  progress 
of  fever,  and  the  administration  of  half  the  medicines  in 
the  London  Pharmacopoeia,  to  hear  every  thing  that  was 
said  by  Count  Altenberg,  and  not  to  lose  a  word  that 
was  uttered  t»y  Caroline.  Mrs.  Falconer  was  particu- 
larly anxious  to  know  what  would  be  said  about  the 
picture  in  the  gallery  at  Percy-hall,  with  which  the 
count  had  been  so  much  charmed.  When  he  got  into 
the  gallery,  Mrs.  Falconer  listened  with  breathless 
eagerness,  yet  still  smiling  on  the  old  lady's  never-end- 
ing history  of  her  convalescence,  and  of  a  shawl  un- 
doubtedly Turkish,  with  the  true,  inestimable,  inimitable 
little  border. 

Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  picture — but  a  pause  im- 
plied more  to  alarm  Mrs.  Falconer  than  could  have  been 
expressed  by  the  most  flattering  compliment. 

Mrs.  Falconer  wondered  why  supper  was  so  late. 
She  sent  to  order  that  it  might  be  served  as  soon  as 
possible  ;  but  her  man,  or  her  gentleman,  cook  was  not 
a  person  to  be  hurried.  Three  successive  messengers 
were  sent  in  vain.  He  knew  his  importance,  and  pre- 
served his  dignity.  The  caramel  was  not  ready,  and 
nothing  could  make  him  dispense  with  its  proper  ap- 
pearance. 

How  much  depended  on  this  caramel !  How  much, 
of  which  the  cook  never  dreamed !  How  much  Mrs. 
Falconer  suffered  during  this  half  hour,  and  suffered 
with  a  smiling  countenance !  How  much,  with  a  scowl- 
ing brow,  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  made  poor  Petcalf 
endure ! 

Every  thing  conspired  to  discomfit  Mrs.  Falconer. 
She  saw  the  manner  in  which  all  the  principal  gentry  in 
the  county,  one  after  another,  expressed  satisfaction 
at  meeting  the  Percy  family.  She  saw  the  regard  and 
respect  with  which  they  were  addressed,  notwithstand- 
ing their  loss  of  fortune  and  station.  It  was  quite 
astonishing  to  Mrs.  Falconer.  Everybody  in  the  rooms, 
except  her  own  set  of  town  friends,  seemed  so  strangely 
interested  about  this  family.  "  How  provoking  that  I 
was  obliged  to  ask  them  here  1  And  Count  Altenberg 
sees  and  hears  all  this !" 


PATRONAGE.  91 

Yes — all  this  confirmed,  by  the  testimony  of  their 
equals  in  rank,  the  favourable  ideas  he  had  first  received 
of  the  Percys  from  their  inferiors  and  dependants. 
Every  person  who  spoke  to  or  of  Caroline — and  he 
heard  many  speak  of  her  who  had  known  her  from 
childhood — showed  affection  in  their  countenance  and 
manner. 

At  length  supper  was  announced,  and  Mrs.  Falconer 
requested  Count  Altenberg  would  take  Lady  Frances 
Arlington  into  the  supper-room.  Miss  Georgiana  Fal- 
coner was  anxious  to  sit  as  near  as  possible  to  her  dear 
Lady  Frances,  and  this  was  happily  accomplished. 

The  count  was  more  than  usually  agreeable ;  but 
whether  this  arose  from  his  desire  to  please  the  ladies 
who  sat  beside  him,  or  those  who  sat  opposite  to  him, 
those  to  whom  he  was  in  politeness  bound  to  address 
his  conversation,  or  those  whose  attention  he  might 
hope  it  would  attract,  were  questions  of  difficult  solu- 
tion. 

As  they  were  returning  into  the  ball-room,  Rosamond 
watched  her  opportunity,  made  her  way  along  a  passage 
which  led  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  dressing-room,  seized  her 
sister's  shoes,  returned  with  the  prize  before  Caroline 
reached  the  antechamber,  and  unseen  by  all,  made  her 
put  them  on — "  Now  promise  me  not  to  refuse  to  dance, 
if  you  are  asked  again." 

Count  Altenberg  engaged  .Miss  Georgiana  Falconer 
the  first  two  dances — when  these  were  finished,  he 
asked  Caroline  to  dance,  and  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  dreaded 
the  renewal  of  conversation  between  them,  and  who 
knew  nothing  of  Rosamond's  counter-manojuvre  about 
the  shoes,  was  surprised  and  rejoiced  when  she  saw 
Caroline  comply,  and  suffer  herself  to  be  led  out  by 
Count  Altenberg.  But  Miss  Georgiana,  who  had  ob- 
served that  Rosamond  danced  well,  had  fears — the 
mother's  hopes  were  disappointed,  the  daughter's  fears 
were  justified.  Caroline  showed  all  the  capability  of 
dancing  without  being  a  dancer,  and  it  certainly  did  not 
escape  the  count's  observation  that  she  possessed  what 
is  most  desirable  in  female  accomplishments,  the  power 
to  excel  without  the  wish  to  display.  Immediately 
after  she  had  finished  these  dances,  the  favour  of  her 
hand  was  solicited  by  a  certain  Colonel  Spandrill. 
Colonel  Spandrill,  celebrated  for  his  fashionable  address 
and  personal  accomplishments,  had  been  the  hoped-for 


92  PATRONAGE. 

partner  of  many  rival  ladies,  and  his  choice  excited  no 
small  degree  of  emotion.  However,  it  was  settled  that 
he  only  danced  with  Miss  Percy  because  Mrs.  Falconer 
had  made  it  her  particular  request.  One  of  these  ladies 
declared  she  had  overheard  that  request;  Colonel  Span- 
drill  then  was  safe  from  all  blame,  but  the  full  fire  of  their 
resentment  was  directed  against  poor  Caroline.  Every 
feature  of  her  face  was  criticised,  and  even  the  minutiaa 
of  her  dress.  They  all  allowed  that  she  was  handsome, 
but  each  found  some  different  fault  with  her  style  of 
beauty.  It  was  curious  to  observe  how  this  secondary 
class  of  young  ladies,  who  had  without  discomfiture  or 
emotion  seen  Caroline  the  object  of  Count  Altenberg's 
attention,  were  struck  with  indignation  the  moment 
they  suspected  her  of  pleasing  Colonel  Spandrill.  Envy 
seldom  takes  two  steps  at  once :  it  is  always  excited  by 
the  fear  of  losing  the  proximate  object  of  ambition  :  it 
never  exists  without  some  mixture  of  hope  as  well  as 
of  fear.  These  ladies  having  no  hope  of  captivating 
Count  Altenberg,  Caroline  did  not  then  appear  to  be 
their  rival ;  but  now  that  they  dreaded  her  competition 
with  a  man  whom  they  had  hopes  of  winning,  they 
pulled  her  to  pieces  without  mercy. 

The  Miss  Falconers  and  their  quadrille  set  were  rest- 
ing themselves,  while  this  country  dance  was  going  on. 
Miss  Georgiana  was  all  the  time  endeavouring  to  en- 
gage Count  Altenberg  in  conversation.  By  all  the 
modern  arts  of  coquetry,  so  insipid  to  a  man  of  the 
world,  so  contemptible  to  a  man  of  sense,  she  tried  to 
recall  the  attention  of  the  count.  Politeness  obliged 
him  to  seem  to  listen,  and  he  endeavoured  to  keep  up 
that  kind  of  conversation  which  is  suited  to  a  ball-room ; 
but  he  relapsed  continually  into  revery,  till  at  last,  pro- 
voked by  his  absence  of  mind,  Miss  Georgiana,  unable 
to  conceal  her  vexation,  unjustly  threw  the  blame  upon 
her  health.  She  complained  of  the  headach,  of  heat, 
of  cold,  of  country  dances — such  barbarous  things  !— 
How  could  any  one  bear  any  thing  but  quadrilles  *  Then 
the  music — the  band  was  horrid ! — they  played  vastly 
too  fast — shocking !  there  was  no  such  thing  as  keeping 
time — did  not  Count  Altenberg  think  so  T 

Count  Altenberg  was  at  that  moment  beating  time 
with  his  foot,  in  exact  cadence  to  Miss  Caroline  Percy's 
dancing :  Miss  Falconer  saw  this,  but  not  till  she  had 
Uttered  her  question,  not  till  it  had  been  observed  by  all 


PATRONAGE.  03 

her  companions.  Lady  Frances  Arlington  half  smiled, 
and  half  a  smile  instantly  appeared  along  a  whole  line 
of  young  ladies.  Miss  Georgiana  suddenly  became 
sensible  that  she  was  exposed  to  the  ridicule  or  sarcastic 
pity  of  those  who  but  an  hour  before  had  flattered  her 
in  the  grossest  manner :  she  had  expected  to  produce  a 
great  effect  at  this  ball — she  saw  another  preferred. 
Her  spirits  sank,  and  even  the  powers  of  affectation 
failed.  The  struggle  between  the  fine  lady  and  the  wo- 
man ceased.  Passion  always  conquers  art  at  a  coup  de 
main.  When  any  strong  emotion  of  the  soul  is  excited, 
the  natural  character,  temper,  and  manners,  seldom  fail 
to  break  through  all  that  is  factitious — those  who  had 
seen  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  only  through  the  vail  of 
affectation  were  absolutely  astonished  at  the  change 
that  appeared  when  it  was  thrown  aside.  By  the  count 
the  metamorphosis  was  unnoticed,  for  he  was  intent  on 
another  object ;  but  by  many  of  the  spectators  it  was 
beheld  with  open  surprise,  or  secret  contempt.  She 
exhibited  at  this  moment  the  picture  of  a  disappointed 
coquette — the  spasm  of  jealousy  had  seized  her  heart ; 
and,  unable  to  conceal  or  endure  the  pain  in  this  convul- 
sion of  mind,  she  forgot  all  grace  and  decorum.  Her 
mother  from  afar  saw  the  danger  at  this  crisis,  and  came 
to  her  relief.  The  danger  in  Mrs.  Falconer's  opinion 
was,  that  the  young  lady's  want  of  temper  should  be 
seen  by  Count  Altenberg ;  she  therefore  carried  him  off 
to  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  to  show  him,  as  she  said, 
"  a  bassoon  player,  who  was  the  exact  image  of  Ho- 
garth's enraged  musician." 

In  the  mean  time  Colonel  Spandrill  and  Caroline  had 
finished  their  dance ;  and  the  colonel,  who  made  it  a 
principle  to  engross  the  attention  of  the  prettiest  woman 
in  the  room,  was  now,  after  his  manner,  paying  his 
adorations  to  his  fair  partner.  Promising  himself  that 
he  should  be  able  to  recede  or  advance  as  he  thought  *£;, 
proper,  he  used  a  certain  happy  ambiguity  of  phrase, 
which,  according  to  the  manner  in  which  it  is  under- 
stood, or  rather  according  to  the  tone  and  look  with 
which  it  is  accompanied,  says  every  thing — or  nothing 
With  prudent  caution,  he  began  with  darts,  flames, 
wounds,  and  anguish  ;  words  which  every  military  man 
holds  himself  privileged  to  use  towards  every  fine 
woman  he  meets.  Darts,  flames,  wounds,  and  anguish 
were  of  no  avail.  The  colonel  went  on,  as  far  as  bright 


94  PATRONAGE. 

eyes — bewitching  smiles — and  heavenly  grace.  Still 
without  effect.  With  astonishment  he  perceived  that 
the  girl,  who  looked  as  if  she  had  never  heard  that  she 
was  handsome,  received  the  full  fire  of  his  flattery  with 
the  composure  of  a  veteran  inured  to  public  admira- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  almost  as  much  surprised  and  dis- 
appointed by  this  as  the  colonel  could  be.  She  had 
purposely  introduced  the  gallant  Colonel  Spandrill  to 
the  Miss  Percys,  in  hopes  that  Caroline's  head  might 
be  affected  by  flattery ;  and  that  she  might  not  then 
retain  all  that  dignity  of  manner  which,  as  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner had  sense  enough  to  see,  was  her  distinguishing 
charm  in  the  eyes  of  the  count.  Frustrated,  and  dread- 
ing every  instant  that  with  all  her  address  she  should 
not  be  able  to  manage  her  Georgiana's  temper,  Mrs. 
Falconer  became  excessively  impatient  for  the  departure 
of  the  Percy  family. 

"  Mr.  Falconer !"  cried  she  ;  "  Commissioner  !  Mrs. 
Percy  ordered  her  carriage  a  considerable  time  ago. 
They  have  a  great  way  to  return,  and  a  dreadful  road — 
I  am  uneasy  about  them — do,  pray,  be  so  good  to  see 
what  detains  her  carriage." 

The  commissioner  went  out  of  the  room,  and  a  few 
minutes  afterward  returned,  and  taking  Mrs.  Falconer 
aside,  said,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  my  dear, 
that  will  surprise  you — indeed  I  can  scarcely  believe  it. 
Long  as  I  have  known  Lord  Oldborough,  I  never  knew 
him  to  do  or  think  of  doing  such  a  thing — and  he  ill — 
at  least  ill  enough  with  the  gout,  for  an  excuse — an  ex- 
cuse he  thought  sufficient  for  the  whole  county — and 
there  are  people  of  so  much  more  consequence — I  pro- 
test I  cannot  understand  it." 

"  l/nderstand  what,  commissioner  1 — Will  you  tell  me 
what  has  happened,  and  you  may  be  as  much  surprised 
as  you  please  afterward?  Lord  Oldborough  has  the 
gout,"  added  she,  in  an  accent  which  expressed  "  Well, 
all  the  world  knows  that." 

"Lord  Oldborough's  own  confidential  man  Rodney, 
you  know — " 

"  Well,  well,  Rodney,  I  do  know — what  of  him  T" 

"  He  is  here — I  have  seen  him  this  instant — from  his 
lord,  with  a  message  to  Mr.  Percy,  to  let  him  know  that 
there  are  a'partments  prepared  for  him  and  all  his  family 
at  Clermont-park ;  and  that  he  insists  upon  their  not 


PATRONAOE.  95 

returning  this  night  to  the  Hills,  lest  the  ladies  should 
be  tired." 

"  Lord  Oldborough !"  repeated  Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  Lord 
Oldborough ! — the  ladies ! — Clermont-park !  where  none 
but  persons  of  the  first  distinction  are  invited  I" 

"  Ay,  now  you  are  surprised,"  cried  the  commis- 
sioner. 

"  Surprised !  beyond  all  power  of  expression,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Beyond  all  power  of  dissimulation,"  she  should  have 
said. 

"  Count  Altenberg,  too,  going  to  hand  them  to  their 
carriage — going  to  Clermont-park  with  them — I  wish  to 
Heaven,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer  to  herself,  "  I  had  never 
given  this  unfortunate  ball !" 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  mistaken  in  this  idea.  It  was  not 
the  circumstance  of  meeting  Caroline  at  a  ball  that 
made  this  impression  on  Count  Altenberg;  wherever 
he  had  seen  her,  if  he  had  had  opportunity  of  convers- 
ing, and  of  observing  the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  her 
manner,  the  same  effect  would  have  been  produced — 
but  in  fact  Mrs.  Falconer's  fears  and  her  daughter's 
jealousy  had  much  magnified  the  truth.  Count  Alten- 
berg had  not,  as  they  fancied,  fallen  desperately  in  love 
at  first  sight  with  Caroline — he  had  only  been  pleased 
and  interested  sufficiently  to  make  him  desirous  to  see 
more  of  her.  Caroline,  though  so  much  the  object  of 
jealousy,  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  she  had  made 
a  conquest — she  simply  thought  the  count's  conversa- 
tion agreeable,  and  she  was  glad  that  she  should  see  him 
again  at  breakfast  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Percy  accepted  of  Lord  Oldborough's 
invitation.  They  found  apartments  prepared  for  them 
at  Clermont-park,  and  servants  ready  to  attend,  with 
the  officious  promptitude  with  which  a  great  man's  do- 
mestics usually  wait  upon  those  who  are  supposed  to 
stand  high  in  their  master's  favour. 

During  his  illness  Lord  Oldborough  had  always  break- 


96  PATRONAGE. 

fasted  in  his  room ;  but  his  lordship  appeared  at  the 
breakfast-table  the  morning  after  the  ball,  ready  to  re- 
ceive his  guests.  Nothing  could  be  more  gracious, 
more  polite,  more  kind,  than  his  reception  of  Mr.  Percy 
and  his  family.  From  the  moment  he  was  introduced 
to  the  wife  and  daughters  of  his  friend,  he  seemed  to 
throw  aside  the  reserve  and  coldness  of  his  manner — 
to  forget  at  once  the  statesman  and  the  minister,  the 
affairs  of  Europe  and  the  intrigues  of  the  cabinet — to 
live  entirely  for  the  present  moment  and  the  present 
company.  The  company  consisted  of  the  Percy  family, 
Count  Altenberg,  and  Mr.  Temple.  It  was  a  common 
practice  with  Lord  Oldborough  to  set  conversation 
a-going,  then  to  become  silent,  and  retire  to  his  own 
thoughts — he  would  just  throw  the  ball,  and  leave  others 
to  run  for  it.  But  now  he  condescended  at  least  to  join 
in  the  pursuit,  though  apparently  without  ambition  to 
obtain  distinction  in  the  race.  After  breakfast  he 
showed  the  ladies  into  his  library  ;  and,  as  he  was  him- 
self disabled,  requested  Mr.  Temple  to  take  down  such 
books  or  prints  as  he  thought  most  worthy  of  their 
attention.  Literature  had  been  neglected,  perhaps  un- 
dervalued, by  Lord  Oldborough,  since  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  politics  ;  but  he  could  at  will  recall  the  clas- 
sical stores  of  his  youth  ;  and  on  modern  books  his  quick 
eye  and  ear,  joined  to  his  strong  and  rapid  judgment, 
enabled  him  to  decide  better  than  many  who  make  it 
the  only  business  of  their  lives  to  read.  Even  Mr. 
Percy,  who  knew  him  best,  was  surprised ;  and  still 
more  surprised  was  Mr.  Temple,  who  had  seen  him  in 
varieties  of  company,  some  of  the  highest  rank  and 
fashion  both  in  wit  and  literature,  where  his  lordship 
had  appeared  either  absent  of  mind  or  a  silent  listener ; 
but  he  now  exerted  those  powers  of  conversation  which 
he  usually  suffered  to  lie  dormant.  Instead  of  waiting 
in  proud  expectation  that  those  who  were  in  his  company 
should  prove  their  claims  to  his  attention,  he  now  pro- 
duced his  own  intellectual  treasures ;  evidently  not  for 
the  vanity  of  display,  but  to  encourage  his  guests  to 
produce  those  talents  which  he  seemed  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  they  possessed.  It  appeared  to  be  his  sole 
object,  his  pride  and  pleasure,  to  pay  attention  to  the 
wife  and  daughters  of  his  friend ;  and  to  show  them  and 
him  to  advantage  to  an  illustrious  foreigner. 
"Yes"  said  he,  apart  to  Count  Altenberg,  "I  am 


PATRONAGE.  97 

proud  to  show  you  a  specimen  of  a  cultivated  indepen- 
dent country  gentleman  and  his  family." 

With  his  usual  penetration,  Lord  Oldborough  soon 
discerned  the  characteristics  of  each  of  the  ladies  of 
this  family — the  good  sense  and  good  breeding  of  Mrs. 
Percy,  the  wit  and  generous  simplicity  of  Rosamond, 
the  magnanimity  and  the  superior  understanding  of 
Caroline.  As  instances  of  these  different  qualities 
appeared,  his  quick  and  brightening  eye  marked  his  ap- 
probation, sometimes  by  a  glance  at  Count  Altenberg, 
by  a  nod  to  Mr.  Temple,  or  by  a  congratulatory  smile 
as  he  turned  to  Mr.  Percy. 

"  I  now  comprehend,"  said  his  lordship,  "  why  Mr. 
Percy  could  never  be  induced  to  take  a  part  in  public 
business.  Ladies,  you  have  done  a  great  injury  to  your 
country — you  have  made  this  gentleman  too  happy  in 
domestic  life." 

Lord  Oldborough  spoke  this  in  a  tone  of  raillery,  and 
with  a  smile — but  the  smile  was  succeeded  by  a  deep 
sigh,  and  dark  gloom  of  countenance.  At  this  moment 
one  of  his  secretaries,  Mr.  Shaw,  came  in  with  papers 
to  be  signed.  The  minister  reappeared.  Lord  Oldbor- 
ough's  mind  turned  instantly  to  business  ;  he  withdrew 
to  a  table  apart,  sat  down,  and  began  to  look  over  the 
first  paper  that  was  laid  before  him.  Mr.  Percy  rang 
the  bell,  and  something  was  said  about  not  intruding  on 
his  lordship's  time — he  looked  up :  "  Mr.  Temple,  you 
are  free.  Mr.  Shaw  shall  finish  whatever  letters  it  is 
necessary  should  be  written  this  morning.  You  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  being  with  your  friends.  It  is  a 
pleasure  you  deserve,  sir,  and  can  appreciate.  Mrs. 
Percy  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  grounds — you  will 
show  them  to  these  ladies.  I  am  a  prisoner  still,"  said 
his  lordship,  looking  down  at  his  gouty  hand,  "  and 
always  shall  be  a  prisoner,"  added  he,  turning  his  eye 
upon  the  papers  which  Mr.  Shaw  held. 

The  ladies,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Temple,  and  by 
Count  Altenberg,  went  out  to  walk.  Mr.  Percy  staid 
one  moment  to  express  his  sense  of  the  extraordinary  po- 
liteness and  kindness  with  which  Lord  Oldborough  had 
honoured  him  and  his  family. 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  my  dear  sir.  Kindness  can 
be  repaid  only  by  kindness.  It  is  a  species  of  debt, 
which  in  the  course  of  my  life  I  have  seldom  been  called 
upon  to  pay." 

VOL.  XV.— E 


08  PATRONAGE. 

This  was  said  not  in  a  voice  either  of  sentiment  or 
of  compliment,  but  rather  in  an  austere  tone,  and  with 
a  stern  countenance  of  conquered  emotion.  Without 
looking  at  Mr.  Percy,  he  received  and  answered  the 
farewell  shake  of  the  hand ;  his  lips  were  instantly  after 
strongly  compressed ;  and,  taking  up  his  pen,  the  man 
was  again  absorbed  in  the  minister. 

Mr.  Percy  joined  the  party  who  were  going  to  walk 
in  the  park.  Count  Altenberg  had  been  unusually  silent 
in  Lord  Oldborough's  company:  with  the  becoming 
deference  of  a  young  man,  in  the  presence  of  one  supe- 
rior in  age,  and  in  high  situation,  he  had  listened  eager 
to  learn,  instead  of  impatient  to  talk.  Attention  of 
course  now  turned  upon  him,  as  the  stranger  and  the 
foreigner. 

With  the  same  perfect  taste  and  good-breeding  with 
which  he  knew  how  to  pay  honour  due,  he  received  it, 
and  appeared  as  much  at  his  ease  whether  he  was  in  the 
shade  or  the  light,  whether  he  was  unnoticed  or  the 
object  of  general  attention.  He  had  that  air  of  self- 
possession,  which  characterizes  a  person  secure  of  his 
own  resources,  and  not  afraid  to  produce  his  abilities. 

The  conversation  turned  at  first  upon  the  beauties  of 
nature — Clermont-park  was  one  of  the  really  magnifi- 
cent places  in  England  which  an  Englishman  may  feel 
proud  to  show  to  a  foreigner. 

Count  Altenberg  politely  and  justly  observed  how 
different  the  country  seats  of  our  nobility  are  from  the 
ruinous  and  comfortless  chateaux  of  most  of  the  French 
nobility. 

Clermont-park,  however,  was  not  new  to  the  count. 
Commissioner  Falconer  had  the  day  after  his  arrival 
shown  him  every  thing  that  was  to  be  seen :  his  atten- 
tion, therefore,  as  they  pursued  their  walk,  was  not  so 
much  distracted  by  external  objects  as  to  prevent  him 
from  wishing  to  converse.  •  Finding  that  Mr.  Percy  had 
travelled  he  spoke  of  Switzerland  and  Italy ;  and  without 
any  of  the  jargon  of  a  connoisseur,  showed  that  he  felt 
with  sensibility  and  enthusiasm  the  beautiful  and  sublime. 
It  soon  appeared  that  he  had  seen  various  countries, 
not  merely  with  the  eye  of  a  painter  and  a  poet,  but  of  a 
philosophical  traveller,  who  can  allow  for  the  differences 
of  national  taste,  and  discern  how  its  variations  are  in- 
fluenced by  climate,  education,  government,  and  local 
circumstances.  In  his  rapid  panorama  of  foreign  coun- 


PATRONAGE.  99 

tries,  he  showed  variety  of  knowledge,  and  without 
illiberal  prejudice  against  any  nation,  an  amiable  pre- 
dilection for  his  native  country.  Next  to  his  own 
country  he  preferred  England,  which,  as  he  said,  by  the 
mother's  side  he  might  call  his  own.  She  had  early 
instilled  into  him  an  admiration  for  our  free  constitu- 
tion, and  a  love  of  our  domestic  habits ;  but  he  had 
never  before  visited  this  country,  and  he  was  particu- 
larly desirous  to  obtain  an  accurate  knowledge  of  Eng- 
land, and  of  the  manners  and  modes  of  life  of  its  in- 
habitants. He  seemed  thus  eager  to  obtain  information, 
not  merely  to  gratify  a  cursory  or  selfish  curiosity,  but 
with  a  view  to  the  future,  and  with  a  hope  of  doing  per- 
manent good.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  not  only  a 
philosophical  but  abenevolent  traveller,  to  whom  nothing 
that  concerns  his  fellow-creatures  is  foreign  or  indif- 
ferent. His  treasuring  up  all  he  had  seen  abroad,  that 
could  be  useful  at  home,  reminded  Caroline  of  Colonel 
Hungerford ;  but  she  observed  that  Count  Altenberg's 
views  were  more  enlarged ;  he  was  unbiased  by  pro- 
fessional habits  ;  his  sphere  of  action  was  higher  ;  heir 
to  extensive  property,  with  all  the  foreign  rights  of 
territorial  dominion  hereditarily  his  ;  and  with  a  proba- 
bility of  obtaining  the  political  power  of  ministerial 
station ;  plans  which  in  other  circumstances  might  have 
been  romantic,  with  Count  Albert's  prospects  and  abili- 
ties, were  within  the  bounds  of  sound  judgment  and 
actual  practicability.  But  whatever  these  intentions 
might  be,  they  were  only  to  be  inferred  from  his  con- 
versation ;  he  scarcely  spoke  of  himself,  or  of  his  own 
designs  ;  whatever  he  was  led  to  say  on  such  subjects, 
he  seemed,  immediately  after  he  had  said  it,  to  feel  as 
an  impropriety,  not  justified  by  the  slight  interest  which 
the  acquaintance  of  a  few  hours  could  inspire. 

He  changed  the  conversation  by  asking  some  ques- 
tion* about  a  celebrated  English  writer.  In  return  for 
the  information  Mr.  Percy  gave  him,  he  spoke  of  some 
recent  foreign  publications, — related  several  anecdotes 
of  literary  foreigners.  His  anecdotes  were  interesting, 
because,  in  each,  there  was  something  characteristic 
of  the  individual,  or  illustrative  of  some  general  prin- 
ciple of  human  nature.  To  gratify  Mr.  Percy  the  count 
spoke  of  some  public  events  of  which  he  had  had  means 
of  obtaining  information.  He  had  not  neglected  any 
of  the  opportunities  he  enjoyed,  and,  whether  he  talked 
E  2 


1-pO  PATRONAGE. 

of  civil  or  military  affairs,  he  showed  the  same  efficient 
knowledge,  and  the  same  superior  ability. 

Caroline,  leaning  on  her  father's  arm,  listened  with  a 
countenance  full  of  intelligence,  animation,  and  sym- 
pathy :  she  looked  alternately  at  the  count  and  at  her 
father,  whose  satisfaction  she  saw  and  enjoyed.  Feel- 
ing that  he  was  appreciated  by  the  father,  inspired  by 
the  charms  of  the  daughter,  and  excited  by  the  idea  he 
had  formed  of  her  character,  Count  Altenberg  had 
indeed  been  uncommonly  agreeable,  entertaining,  and 
eloquent.  During  this  walk,  though  Caroline  said  but 
little,  yet  that  little,  to  a  man  of  the  count's  discern- 
ment, was  sufficient  to  show  good  judgment  and  great 
capacity.  This  increased  the  admiration  and  interest 
which  her  beauty,  and  manners,  and  all  he  had  heard 
of  her  conduct  created. 

It  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  characteristics  of  genius, 
that  it  is  able  quickly  to  discover  and  elicit  genius 
wherever  it  exists.  It  is  certain  that,  with  the  celerity 
of  intuition,  of  sympathy,  or  of  practised  penetration, 
Count  Albert  perceived  Caroline's  intellectual  superi- 
ority. He  had  been,  at  first,  curious  to  discover 
whether  her  mental  qualifications  were  equal  to  her  ex- 
traordinary personal  beauty  ;  but  he  had  soon  forgotten 
his  intention  of  trying  her  abilities  in  anxiety  to  con- 
vince her  of  his  own.  The  whole  turn  and  style  of  his 
conversation  now  proved,  more  than  any  compliment 
could  possibly  have  shown,  the  high  opinion  he  had 
of  her  understanding,  and  of  the  elevation  of  her  mind. 
A  woman  may  always  judge  of  the  real  estimation 
in  which  she  is  held  by  the  conversation  which  is 
addressed  to  her. 

All  this  time,  where  were  Rosamond,  Mrs.  Percy, 
and  Mr.  Temple  ?  Mr.  Temple  had  taken  them  to  see  a 
fine  view  ;  Mr.  Percy  proposed  to  sit  down  and  quietly 
wait  their  return ;  Caroline  and  the  count  seemed  to 
have  no  objection  to  oblige  him,  and  they  placed  them- 
selves under  a  spreading  beech.  They  had  not  been 
seated  many  minutes  before  they  were  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  Commissioner  Falconer,  who  came, 
by  a  cross  path,  from  the  house. 

"  At  last  I  have  found  you.  What  a  prodigious  walk 
you  have  taken!"  cried  the  commissioner,  wiping  his 
forehead.  "  But  where's  Mrs.  Percy  and  the  rest  of 
your  party  ]  I  have  so  walked  to  catch  you — rode  over 


PATRONAGE.  101 

on  purpose  to  pay  my  compliments  to  the  ladies  before 
they  return  home — and  I  come  charg6  d'affaires  from 
Mrs.  Falconer  to  Mrs.  Percy.  I  must  see  Mrs.  Percy : 
oh,  here  she  is,  coming  down  the  hill — ay,  from  the  point 
of  view.  Mercy !  how  you  have  walked ! — I  am  not 
equal  to  the  grand  tour, — it  kills  me !  But  I  am  so 
sorry  I  was  not  here  time  enough  to  do  the  honours 
of  Clermont-park,  as  Lord  Oldbo rough  is  confined. 
Who  has  Mrs.  Percy  for  her  cicerone?  Ha!  Mr. 
Temple, — I  thought  he  was  always  so  busy — deputed 
by  Lord  Oldborough — really ! — Hum ! — I  hope  Lord 
Oldborough  did  not  conceive  that  there  was  any  want 
of  empressement  on  my  part — I  should  have  been  here  a 
full  hour  sooner,  but  that  my  ladies  were  so  late  at 
breakfast  after  sitting  up — and  I  thought  your  ladies 
might  have  been  fatigued  too — but  Miss  Caroline  Percy, 
I  see,  fresh  as  a  rose—" 

The  commissioner  then,  as  if  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest,  paid  Caroline  a  profusion  of  compliments  upon 
her  appearance  the  preceding  night — numbered  on  his 
fingers  the  conquests  she  had  made,  and  the  hearts  she 
had  broken.  Mrs.  Percy,  Rosamond,  and  Mr.  Temple 
came  up;  and,  as  soon  as  they  had  expressed  their 
raptures  on  the  beauty  of  this  view,  the  commissioner 
presented  his  note  from  Mrs.  Falconer  to  Mrs.  Percy, 
to  which,  he  said,  he  was  most  anxious  to  be  the  bearer 
of  a  favourable  answer,  as  he  knew  that  he  should 
otherwise  be  ill  received  at  home,  and  the  disappoint- 
ment would  be  great.  The  note  contained  a  pressing 
invitation  to  a  play,  which  the  young  people  at  Fal- 
coner-court had  it  in  contemplation  to  represent. 
Whether  it  was  to  be  Zara  or  Cato  they  had  not  yet 
positively  decided :  for  Cato  they  were  in  terrible  dis- 
tress for  a  Marcia ;  could  Miss  Caroline  Percy  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  try  Marcia  1  She  would  look  the  part 
so  well,  and,  no  doubt,  act  it  so  well.  Or,  if  she  pre- 
ferred Zara,  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  would,  with 
pleasure,  take  the  part  of  the  confidante.  Dresses  in 
great  forwardness,  Turkish  or  Roman,  convertible  in  a 
few  hours'  notice,  should  wait  Miss  Percy's  decision. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Caroline,  what  say  you  V  cried  Mrs. 
Percy. 

Caroline  was  going  to  answer. 

"  No,  no,  don't  answer  yet,"  interrupted  the  commis- 
sioner :  "  let  me  add,  what  I  find  Mrs.  Falconer  took  it 


102  PATRONAGE; 

for  granted  I  would  say,  that  there  can  be  no  possible 
difficulty  or  inconvenience  about  the  goings  and  com- 
ings, and  horses  and  carriages,  and  beds,  and  all  those 
sort  of  things — for  our  horses  and  carriages  can  have 
nothing  to  do  while  the  ladies  are  rehearsing — shall 
attend  you  any  day — any  hour — and  beds  we  can  con- 
trive :  so,  I  beseech  you,  let  none  of  these  vulgar  sub- 
lunary considerations  deprive  us  of  a  Zara  or  a  Marcia. 
But  say,  which  shall  it  be? — Which  character,  my 
charming  cousin,  will  you  do  us  the  honour  and  pleasure 
to  take V 

Count  Altenberg  advanced  a  step,  full  of  eager  ex- 
pectation. When  he  heard  Caroline  pronounce,  with 
great  politeness,  a  refusal,  for  the  first  moment  he 
looked  disappointed,  but  the  next  seemed  satisfied  and 
pleased.  It  would  have  highly  gratified  and  interested 
him  to  have  seen  Caroline  act  either  the  sublime  or  the 
tender  heroine,  but  he  preferred  seeing  her  support  her 
own  character  with  modest  dignity. 

Commissioner  Falconer  pleaded  and  pressed  in  vain  : 
Caroline  was  steady  in  her  refusal,  though  the  manner 
of  it  was  so  gentle  that  every  instant  he  thought  he 
should  vanquish  her  reluctance.  At  length  he  turned 
from  the  ladies  to  the  gentlemen  for  assistance. 

"  Mr.  Temple,  I  am  sure  you  will  join  my  entreaties, — 
Count  Altenberg — " 

Count  Altenberg  "  would  not  presume  to  ask  a  favour 
which  had  been  refused  to  the  commissioner  and  to 
.Mrs.  Falconer."  Caroline  understood  and  gave  him 
credit  for  his  politeness. 

"  Then,  if  I  must  give  up  this  point,"  said  the  commis- 
sioner, "  at  least  do  not  let  me  return  disappointed  in 
every  respect :  let  me  hope  that  you  will  all  favour  us 
with  your  company  at  our  play." 

This  invitation  was  accepted  with  many  thanks. 

"And,  remember,  you  must  not  run  away  from  us 
that  night,"  added  the  commissioner.  "  Mrs.  Falconer 
will  have  reason  to  be  jealous  of  Clermont-park  if  she 
finds  that  it  draws  our  friends  and  relations  away  from 
Falconer-court." 

The  carriage,  which  had  been  ordered  to  the  great 
gate  of  the  park,  was  now  waiting  there,  and  the  com- 
missioner took  leave  of  his  relations  with  many  shakes 
of  the  hand  and  many  expressions  of  regret.  Count 
Altenberg  continued  talking  to  Caroline  till  the  last 


PATRONAGE.  103 

moment ;  and  after  he  had  handed  her  into  the  carriage, 
as  he  took  leave  of  Mr.  Percy,  he  said  that  he  had  to 
thank  him  and  his  family  for  some  of  the  most  agree- 
able among  the  many  agreeable  hours  he  had  passed 
since  he  came  to  England. 

On  their  way  home  this  happy  family-party  eagerly 
talked  over  everything  and  everybody  that  had  inter- 
ested them :  first  and  chiefly  they  spoke  of  Count  Alten- 
berg.  Caroline  said  how  often,  during  their  walk,  she 
had  regretted  her  mother's  and  sister's  absence.  She 
recollected  and  reminded  her  father  of  some  of  the 
striking  circumstances  they  had  heard,  and  Mr.  Percy 
and  she  repeated  so  many  curious  and  interesting  anec- 
dotes, so  many  just  observations  and  noble  sentiments, 
that  Mrs.  Percy  and  Rosamond  were  quite  charmed 
with  the  count.  Rosamond,  however,  was  surprised 
by  the  openness  and  ease  with  which  Caroline  praised 
and  talked  of  this  gentleman. 

"  I  will  say  nothing,"  thought  she,  "  for  I  am  deter- 
mined to  be  prudent  this  time.  But  certainly  here  is 
no  danger  that  her  love  should  unsought  be  won.  Only 
this  I  may  and  must  think,  that  Caroline  cannot,  without 
affectation,  avoid  seeing  that  she  has  made  a  conquest." 
Mistaken  again  Rosamond!  Caroline  had  neither 
seen  nor  suspected  it.  Count  Altenberg's  gratitude  for 
the  hospitality  shown  to  his  countrymen  at  the  time 
of  the  shipwreck,  his  recent  acquaintance  with  her 
brother  Alfred,  and  all  he  had  heard  of  her  father  from 
the  grateful  tenants  at  Percy-hall,  accounted,  as  Caro- 
line justly  thought,  for  the  eagerness  he  had  shown  to 
be  introduced  to  her  family.  His  conversing  so  much 
with  her,  she  thought,  was  natural,  as  he  was  a  stranger 
to  most  of  the  company,  and  had  some  subjects  of  con- 
versation in  common  with  her  and  her  family.  Caro- 
line was  not  apt  to  imagine  admiration  in  every  word 
or  look ;  she  was  not  expert  in  construing  every  com- 
pliment into  a  declaration  or  an  innuendo  of  love. 

His  conversation,  during  their  walk,  had  been  per- 
fectly free  from  all  compliment.  It  had  been  on  sub- 
jects so  interesting,  that  she  had  been  carried  on  with- 
out having  had  time  to  think  of  love.  A  good  and  great 
character  had  opened  to  her  view,  and  she  had  been  so 
absorbed  in  sympathy,  that  though  she  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  Count  Altenberg,  she  had  never  thought  of 
him  with  any  reference  to  herself. 


104  PATRONAGE. 

The  morning  after  their  return  home,  Count  Alien- 
berg  came  to  the  Hills,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Temple. 
They  staid  till  it  was  late;  for  the  count  seemed  to 
forget  the  hour  of  the  day  till  reminded  of  it  by  Mr. 
Temple.  Caroline,  in  her  own  family,  at  her  home, 
pleased  Count  Altenberg  particularly.  The  interest  he 
felt  about  her  increased,  and  he  afterward  took  or  made 
frequent  opportunities  of  calling  at  the  Hills :  his  con- 
versation was  generally  addressed  to  Mr.  Percy,  but  he 
observed  Caroline  with  peculiar  attention — and  Rosa- 
mond was  confirmed  in  her  opinion.  A  few  weeks 
passed  in  this  manner,  while  the  play  was  preparing  at 
Falconer-court.  But  before  we  go  to  the  play,  let  us 
take  a  peep  behind  the  scenes,  and  inquire  what  is  and 
has  been  doing  by  the  Falconer  family.  Even  they 
who  are  used  to  the  ennui  subsequent  to  dissipation, 
even  they  who  have  experienced  the  vicissitudes  of 
coquetry,  the  mortifications  of  rivalship,  and  the  despair 
of  disappointed  vanity,  can  scarcely  conceive  the  com- 
plication of  disagreeable  ideas  and  emotions  with  which 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  awoke  the  morning  after  the 
magnificent  ball. 

The  image  of  her  beautiful  rival  disturbed  her  morn- 
ing dreams,  and  stood  before  her  fancy  the  moment  she 
opened  her  eyes.  Wakening,  she  endeavoured  to  re- 
collect and  compare  all  that  had  passed  the  preceding 
night ;  but  there  had  been  such  tumult  in  her  mind  that 
she  had  only  a  vague  remembrance  of  the  transactions  : 
she  had  a  confused  idea  that  the  count  was  in  love,  and 
that  he  was  not  in  love  with  her :  she  had  fears  that, 
during  the  heat  of  competition,  she  had  betrayed  unbe- 
coming emotion  ;  but  gradually  habitual  vanity  predom- 
inated ;  her  hopes  brightened  ;  she  began  to  fancy  that 
the  impression  made  by  her  rival  might  be  easily 
effaced,  and  that  they  should  see  no  more  of  the  fair 

Ehantom.  That  branch  of  the  Percy  family,  she  recol- 
jcted,  were  to  be  considered  only  as  decayed  gentry ; 
and  she  flattered  herself  that  they  would  necessarily 
and  immediately  sink  again  into  that  obscurity  from 
which  her  mother's  ill-fated  civility  had  raised  them. 
Her  mother,  she  knew,  had  invited  these  Percys 
against  her  will,  and  would  be  particularly  careful,  on 
account  of  Sir  Robert  Percy  (and  Arabella),  not  to  show 
them  any  farther  attention.  Thus  things  would,  in  a 
day  or  two,  fall  again  into  their  proper  tram.  "  No 


PATRONAGE.  105 

doubt  the  count  will  call  this  morning,  to  know  how 
we  do  after  the  ball." 

So  she  rose,  and  resolved  to  dress  herself  with  the 
most  becoming  negligence. 

Very  different  was  the  result  of  her  experienced 
mother's  reflections.  Mrs.  Falconer  saw  that  her 
daughter's  chance  of  the  count  was  now  scarcely  worth 
considering ;  that  it  must  be  given  up  at  once,  to  avoid 
the  danger  of  utter  ruin  to  other  speculations  of  a  more 
promising  kind.  The  mother  knew  the  unmanageable 
violence  of  her  daughter's  temper :  she  had  seen  her 
Georgiana  expose  herself  the  preceding  night  at  the 
ball  to  her  particular  friends,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  knew 
enough  of  the  world  to  dread  reports  originating  from 
particular  friends ;  she  dreaded,  also,  that  on  some 
future  similar  occasion  the  young  lady's  want  of  com- 
mand over  her  jealousy  should  produce  some  terribly 
ridiculous  scene,  confirm  the  report  that  she  had  an 
unhappy  passion  for  Count  Altenberg,  stigmatize  her  as 
a  forlorn  maiden,  and  ruin  her  chance  of  any  other  es- 
tablishment. In  this  instance  she  had  been  misled  by 
her  own  and  her  daughter's  vanity.  It  was  mortifying, 
to  be  sure,  to  find  that  she  had  been  wrong ;  and  still 
mare  provoking  to  be  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  Mr. 
Falconer  was  right ;  but  in  the  existing  circumstances 
it  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a 
species  of  satisfaction,  returned  to  her  former  habits 
of  thinking,  and  resumed  certain  old  schemes,  from 
which  the  arrival  of  the  count  had  diverted  her  imagina- 
tion. She  expected  the  two  Mr.  Clays  at  Falconer- 
court  the  next  day.  Either  of  them,  she  thought,  might 
be  a  good  match  for  Georgiana.  To  be  sure,  it  was 
said  that  French  Clay  had  gaming  debts  to  a  large 
amount  upon  his  hands — this  was  against  him ;  but,  in 
his  favour,  there  was  the  chance  of  his  elder  brother's 
dying  unmarried,  and  leaving  him  Clay-hall.  Or,  take 
it  the  other  way,  and  suppose  English  Clay  to  be  made 
the  object — he  was  one  of  the  men  who  professedly 
have  a  horror  of  being  taken  in  to  marry ;  yet  no  men 
are  more  likely  "  to  run  into  the  danger  to  avoid  the 
apprehension."  Suppose  the  worst,  and  that  neither 
of  the  Clays  could  be  worked  to  any  good  purpose,  Mrs. 
Falconer  had  still  in  reserve  that  pis  oiler  Petcalf,  whose 
father,  the  good  general,  was  at  Bath,  with  the  gout  in 

E  a 


106  PATRONAGE. 

his  stomach ;  and  if  he  should  die,  young  Petcalf  would 
pop  into  possession  of  the  general's  lodge  in  Asia  Mi- 
nor:* not  so  fine  a  place,  to  be  sure,  nor  an  establish- 
ment so  well  appointed,  as  Clay-hall ;  but  still  with  a 
nabob's  fortune  a  great  deal  might  be  done — and  Geor- 
giana  might  make  Petcalf  throw  down  the  lodge  and 
build.  So  at  the  worst  she  might  settle  very  comfort- 
ably with  young  Petcalf,  whom  she  could  manage  as 
she  pleased,  provided  she  never  let  him  see  her  penchant 
for  Count  Altenberg.  Mrs.  Falconer  determined  to  turn 
the  tables  dexterously,  and  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
count  admired  Georgiana,  but  saw  she  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  leave  England.  "  We  must,"  said  she  to  her- 
self, "  persuade  English  Clay  that  I  would  not  for  any 
consideration  give  my  daughter  to  a  foreigner." 

In  consequence  of  these  plans  and  reflections,  Mrs^ 
Falconer  began  her  new  system  of  operations,  by  writ- 
ing that  note  full  of  superfluous  civility  to  Mrs.  Percy, 
with  which  Commissioner  Falconer  had  been  charged : 
the  pressing  Caroline  to  play  Zara  or  Marcia,  the  leav- 
ing to  her  the  choice  of  dresses  and  characters,  the 
assurance  that  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  would  take  the 
confidante's  part  with  pleasure,  were  all  strokes  of  Mrs. 
Falconer's  policy.  By  these  means  she  thought  she 
could  most  effectually  do  away  all  suspicion  of  her  own 
or  her  daughter's  jealousy  of  Miss  Caroline  Percy.  Mrs. 
Falconer  foresaw  that,  in  all  probability,  Caroline  would 
decline  acting ;  but  if  she  had  accepted,  Mrs.  Falconer 
would  have  been  sincerely  pleased,  confident,  as  she 
was,  that  Caroline's  inferiority  to  her  Georgiana,  who 
was  an  accomplished  actress,  would  be  conspicuously 
manifest. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Percy's  answer  and  Caroline's  refusal 
arrived,  Mrs.  Falconer  went  to  her  daughter  Georgiana's 
apartment,  who  was  giving  directions  to  her  maid,  Lydia 
Sharpe,  about  some  part  of  Zara's  dress. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  looking  carelessly  at 
the  dress,  "  You  won't  want  a  very  expensive  dress  for 
Zara." 

"Indeed,  ma'am,  I  shall,"  oried  Georgiana:  "Zara 
will  be  nothing,  unless  she  is  well  dressed." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  must  manage  as  well  as  you  can 

*  A.  district  in  England  so  called. 


PATRONAGE.  107 

with  Lydia  Sharpe.  Your  last  court-dress  surely  she 
can  make  do  vastly  well,  with  a  little  alteration  to  give 
it  a  Turkish  air." 

"  Oh !  dear  me,  ma'am — a  little  alteration  !"  cried 
Lydia :  "  no  alteration  upon  the  face  of  Heaven's  earth, 
that  I  could  devise  from  this  till  Christmas,  would  give 
it  a  Turkish  air.  You  don't  consider,  nor  conceive, 
ma'am,  how  skimping  these  here  court-trains  are  now — 
for  say  the  length  might  answer,  it's  length  without  any 
manner  of  breadth,  you  know,  ma'am — look,  ma'am,  a 
mere  strip  ! — only  two  breadths  of  three-quarters  bare 
each — which  gives  no  folds  in  nature,  nor  drapery,  nor 
majesty,  which,  for  a  Turkish  queen,  is  indispensably 
requisite,  I  presume." 

"  Another  breadth  or  two  would  make  it  full  enough, 
and  cotton  velvet  will  do,  and  come  cheap,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"  Cotton  velvet !"  cried  Miss  Georgiana.  "  I  would 
not  wear  cotton  velvet — like  the  odious,  shabby  Miss 
Chattertons,  who  are  infamous  for  it." 

"  But,  on  the  stage,  what  eye  could  detect  it,  child  V 
said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Eye,  ma'am  !  no,  to  be  sure,  at  that  distance ;  but 
the  first  touch  to  anybody  that  understands  velvets 
would  betray  it — and  them  that  is  on  the  stage  along 
with  Miss  Georgiana,  or  behind  the  scenes,  will  detect 
it.  And  I  understood  the  ladies  was  to  sup  in  their 
dresses ;  and  on  such  an  occasion  I  presumed  you 
would  like  Miss  Georgiana  to  have  an  entire  cap-a-pie 
new  dress,  as  the  Lady  Aldingtons  and  everybody  has 
seen  her  appear  in  this,  and  has  it  by  heart,  I  may 
say — and  the  count  too,  who,  of  course,  will  expect 
to  see  Zara  spick  and  span — But  I  leave  it  all  to  your 
own  better  judgment,  ma'am — I  am  only  just  mentioa- 
ing-" 

•  "  All  I  know  is,  that  the  play  will  be  nothing  unless> 
it  is  well  dressed,"  cried  Miss  Georgiana  ;  "  and  I  never 
will  play  Zara  in  old  trumpery." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  there's  your  amber  satin,  or  your 
pink,  or  your  green,  or  your  white,  or — I  am  sure  you 
nave  dresses  enough.  Lydia,  produce  them,  and  let  me 
see." 

Lydia  covered  the  bed  with  various  finery;  but  to 
every  dress  that  was  produced  some  insuperable  objec- 
tion was  started,  by  the  young  lady  or  by  her  maid. 


108  PATRONAGE. 

"  I  remember  you  had  a  lavender  satin ;  that  I  do  not 
see  here,  Georgians,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  The  colour  did  not  become  me,  ma'am,  and  I  sold 
it  to  Lydia." 

Sold !  gave,  perhaps  some  innocent  reader  may  sus- 
pect that  the  young  lady  meant  to  say.  No ;  this  buy- 
ing and  selling  of  finery  now  goes  on  frequently  between 
a  certain  class  of  fashionable  maids  and  mistresses ;  and 
some  young  ladies  are  now  not  ashamed  to  become  old- 
clothes-women. 

"  Vastly  well,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling ;  "  you 
have  your  own  ways  and  means,  and  I  am  glad  of  it ; 
for  I  can  tell  you  there  is  no  chance  of  my  getting 

E)u  any  money  from  your  father ;  I  dare  not  speak  to 
m  on  that  subject— for  he  was  extremely  displeased 
with  me  about  Mrs.  Sparkes'  last  bill :  so,  if  you  want 
a  new  dress  for  Zara,  you  and  Lydia  Sharpe  must 
settle  it  as  well  as  you  can  between  you.  I  will,  in  the 
mean  time,  go  and  write  a  note,  while  you  make  your 
bargain." 

"  Bargain !  me,  ma'am  !"  cried  Lydia  Sharpe,  as  Mrs. 
Falconer  left  the  room  ;  "  I  am  the  worst  creature  ex- 
tant at  bargaining,  especially  with  ladies.  But  any 
thing  I  can  do  certainly  to  accommodate,  I  shall,  I'm 
sure,  be  happy." 

"  Well,  then,'*  said  Miss  Georgiana,  "  if  you  take  this 
white  satin  off  my  hands,  Lydia,  1  am  sure  I  shall  be 
happy." 

"  I  have  no  objection,  ma'am — that  is,  I'm  in  duty 
bound  to  make  no  manner  of  objections,"  said  Lydia, 
with  a  very  sentimental  air,  hanging  her  head  aside,  and 
with  one  finger  rubbing  her  under-lip  slowly,  as  she 
contemplated  the  white  satin  which  her  young  mis- 
tress held  up  for  sale.  "  I  am  really  scrupulous — but 
you're  sensible,  Miss  Georgiana,  that  your  white  satin 
is  so  all  frayed  with  the  crape  sleeves.  Lady  Trant 
recommended — '* 

"  Only  a  very  little  frayed." 

"  But  in  the  front  breadth,  ma'am ;  you  know  that 
makes  a  world  of  difference,  because  there's  no  hiding, 
and  with  satin  no  turning — and  not  a  bit  neither  to  new 
body." 

"  The  body  is  perfectly  good." 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  observing,  but  you  know,  ma'am, 
you  noticed  yourself  how  it  was  blackened  and  soiled 


PATRONAGE.  109 

by  wearing  under  your  black  lace  last  time,  and  that 
you  could  not  wear  it  again  on  that  account." 
"  I !— but  you— " 

"  To  be  sure,  ma'am,  there's  a  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence between  I  and  you :  only  when  one  comes  to  bar- 
gaining— " 

She  paused,  seeing  wrath  gathering  black  and  dire 
in  her  young  lady's  countenance  ;  before  it  burst,  she 
changed  her  tone,  and  continued,  "  All  I  mean  to  say, 
ma'am,  is,  that  white  satin  being  a  style  of  thing  I 
could  not  pretend  to  think  of  wearing  in  any  shape  my- 
self, I  could  only  take  it  to  part  with  again,  and  in  the 
existing  circumstances,  I  am  confident  I  should  lose  by 
it.  But  rather  than  disoblige,  I'll  take  it  at  whatever 
you  please." 

"  Nay,  I  don't  please  about  the  matter,  Lydia ;  but  I 
am  sure  you  had  an  excellent  bargain  of  my  lavender 
satin,  which  I  had  only  worn  but  twice." 

"  Dear  heart ! — La,  ma'am  !  if  you  knew  what  trouble 
I  had  with  Mrs.  Sparkes,  the  dress-maker  about  it,  be- 
cause of  the  coffee-stain — And  I  vow  to  my  stars  I  am 
ashamed  to  mention  it ;  but  Mrs.  Scrags,  Lady  Trant's 
woman,  and  both  the  Lady  Arlingtons'  maids,  can  vouch- 
for  the  truth  of  it.  I  did  not  make  a  penny,  but  lost, 
ma'am,  last  year,  by  you  and  Miss  Bell ;  that  is,  not  by 
you  nor  Miss  Bell,  but  by  all  I  bought,  and  sold  to  dis- 
advantage ;  which,  I  am  morally  certain,  you  would  not 
have  permitted  had  you  known  of  it,  as  I  told  Mrs. 
Scrags,  who  was  wondering  and  pitying  of  me :  my 
young  ladies,  Mrs.  Scrags,  says  I — " 

"  No  matter,"  interrupted  Georgiana  ;  "  no  matter 
what  you  said  to  Mrs.  Scrags,  or  Mrs.  Scrags  to  you — 
but  tell  me  at  once,  Lydia,  what  you  can  afford  to  give 
me  for  these  three  gowns." 

"  I  afford  to  give  !"  said  Lydia  Sharpe.  "  Well,  the 
times  is  past,  to  be  sure,  and  greatly  changed,  since 
ladies  used  to  give,  but  now  it's  their  maids  must  give — 
then,  suppose — let's  see,  ma'am — for  the  three,  the  old 
white  satin,  and  the  amber  satin,  and  the  black  lace — 
why,  ma'am,  if  you'd  throw  me  the  pink  crape  into  the 
bargain,  I  don't  doubt  but  I  could  afford  to  give  you  nine 
guineas,  ma'am,"  said  the  maid. 

"  1* hen,  Lydia  Sharpe,  you  will  never  have  them,  I 
promise  you,"  cried  the  mistress :  "  Nine  guineas !  how 
can  you  have  the  assurance  to  offer  me  such  a  sum/? 


110  PATRONAGE. 

As  if  I  had  never  bought  a  gown  in  my  life,  and  did  not 
know  the  value  or  price  of  any-tWng !  Do  you  take  me 
for  a  fool V 

"  Oh !  dear  no,  miss — I'm  confident  that  you  know  the 
value  and  price  to  the  uttermost  penny ;  but  only  you  for- 
get that  there's  a  difference  betwixt  the  buying  and  sell- 
ing price  for  ladies  ;  but  if  you  please,  ma'am — I  would 
do  any  thing  to  oblige  and  accommodate  you — I  will  con- 
sult the  Lady  Arlington's  women,  Miss  Flora,  and  Miss 
Pritehard,  who  is  judges  in  this  line — most  honourable 
appraisers ;  and  if  they  'praise  the  articles,  on  inspec- 
tion, a  shilling  higher,  I  am  sure  I  shall  submit  to  their 
jurisdiction — if  they  say  ten  guineas,  ma'am,  you 
shall  have  it,  for  I  love  to  be  at  a  word  and  a  blow — 
and  to  do  every  thing  genteel :  so  I'll  step  and  consult 
my  friends,  ma'am,  and  give  you  my  ultimatum  in  half 
an  hour." 

So  saying,  while  her  young  mistress  stood  flushed 
and  swelling  with  pride  and  anger,  which,  however,  the 
sense  of  her  own  convenience  and  interest  controlled, 
the  maid  swept  up  the  many  coloured  robes  in  her 
arms,  and  carried  them  up  the  back  stairs,  to  hold  her 
consultation  with  her  friends,  the  most  honourable  of 
appraisers. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  returning  as 
she  heard  the  maid  quit  the  room,  "  have  you  driven 
your  bargain  for  the  loan  1  Have  you  raised  the  sup- 
plies !" 

"  No,  indeed,  ma'am — for  Lydia  is  grown  a  perfect 
Jew.  She  may  well  say  she  is  related  to  Sharpe,  the 
attorney — she  is  the  keenest,  most  interested  creature 
in  the  world — and  grown  very  saucy  too." 

"  Like  all  those  people,  my  dear ;  but  one  can't  do 
without  them." 

"  But  one  can  change  them." 

"  But,  to  use  their  own  language,  one  is  not  sure 
of  bettering  oneself— and  then  their  wages  are  to  be 
paid — and  all  one's  little  family  secrets  are  at  their 
mercy." 

"  It's  very  provoking — it  is  very  provoking !"  repeated 
Miss  Georgiana,  walking  up  and  down  the  room.  "  Such 
an  extortioner ! — for  my  amber  satin,  and  my  white 
satin,  and  my  black  lace,  and  my  pink  crape,  only  nine 
guineas  !  What  do  you  think  of  that,  ma'am  I" 

M  I  think,  my  dear,  you  pay  a  prodigious  premium  for 


PATRONAGE.  lit 

ready  money ;  but  nine  guineas  will  dress  Zara  decently^ 
I  dare  say,  if  that's  your  object." 

"  Nine  guineas !  ma'am,"  cried  Miss  Georgiana, 
"  impossible  !  I  can't  act  at  all — so  there's  an  end  of  the 
matter." 

"  Not  an  end  of  the  matter  quite,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, coolly ;  "  for  in  that  case  I  must  look  out  for 
another  Zara." 

"  And  where  will  you  find  one,  ma'am  1" 

"  The  Lady  Arlingtons  have  both  fine  figures — and,  I 
dare  say,  would  either  of  them  oblige  me." 

"  Not  they.  Lady  Anne,  with  her  indolence  and  her 
languor — a  lady  who  looks  as  if  she  was  saying, '  Quasha, 
tell  Quaco  to  tell  Fibba  to  pick  up  this  pin  that  lies  at 
my  foot ;'  do  you  think  she'd  get  a  part  by  heart,  ma'am, 
to  oblige  you — or  that  she  could,  if  she  would,  act  Zara! 
— No  more  than  she  could  fly  !" 

"  But  her  sister,  Lady  Frances,  would  and  could," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "She  is  quick  enough,  and  I  know 
she  longs  to  try  Zara." 

"  Longs  ! — Lord,  ma'am,  she  longs  for  fifty  things 
in  a  minute  l^Quick ! — Yes,  but  don't  depend  on  her, 
I  advise  you ;  for  she  does  not  know,  for  two  seconds 
together,  what  she  would  have,  or  what  she  would  do." 

"  Then  I  have  resource  in  one  who,  I  am.  persuaded, 
will  not  disappoint  me  or  anybody  else,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. 

"  Who  can  you  mean,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Miss  Caroline  Percy.  Count  Altenberg  put  it  into 
my  head ;  he  observed  that  she  would  look  the  character 
remarkably  well — and  I  will  write  to  her  directly." 

Without  power  of  articulating,  Miss  Georgiana  Fal- 
coner fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  mother  for  some  moments. 

"  You  think  1  have  lost  my  senses  this  morning — I 
thought,  and  I  am  afraid  so  did  many  other  people,  that 
you  had  lost  yours  last  night.  Another  such  scene, 
your  friends  the  Lady  Arlingtons  for  spectators,  you  are 
ridiculous,  and,  of  course,  undone  for  life  in  the  fashionr 
able  worlct — establishment,  and  every  thing  else  that  is 
desirable,  irrevocably  out  of  the  question.  I  am  sur- 
prised that  a  girl  of  your  understanding  and  really  pol- 
ished manners,  Georgiana,  should,  the  moment  any  thing 
crosses  or  vexes  you,  show  no  more  command  of  tem- 
per, grace,  or  dignity,  than  the  veriest  country-girl. 
When  things  go  wrong,  do  you  see  me  lose  all  presence 


112  PATRONAGE. 

of  mind ;  or  rather,  do  you  ever  see  me  change  a  muscle 
of  my  countenance  ?" 

"  The  muscles  of  some  people's  countenance,  ma'am, 
I  suppose  are  differently  made  from  others — mine  will 
change  with  my  feelings,  and  there  is  no  remedy,  for 
my  feelings  unfortunately  are  uncommonly  acute." 

"  That  is  a  misfortune,  indeed,  Georgiana ;  but  not 
without  remedy,  I  trust.  If  you  will  take  my  advice — " 

"  Were  you  ever  in  love,  ma'am  V 

"Properly — when  every  thing  was  settled  for  my 
marriage ;  but  not  improperly,  or  it  might  never  have 
come  to  my  wedding-day.  Headstrong  child!  listen 
to  me,  or  you  will  never  see  that  day  with  Count  Alten- 
berg." 

"  Do  you  mean,  ma'am,  to  ask  Miss  Caroline  Percy 
to  play  Zara  ?" 

"  I  will  answer  no  question,  Georgiana,  till  you  have 
heard  me  patiently." 

"  I  only  hope,  ma'am,  you'll  put  it  in  the  play-bill— or, 
if  you  don't,  I  will — Zara,  Miss  Caroline  Percy — by 
particular  desire  of  Count  Altenberg." 

"  Whatever  I  do,  you  may  hope  and  be  assured,  Geor- 
giana, shall  be  properly  done,"  cried  Mrs.  Falconer, 
rising  with  dignity ;  "  and,  since  you  are  not  disposed  to 
listen  to  me,  I  shall  leave  you  to  your  own  inventions, 
and  go  and  write  my  notes." 

"La,  mamma!  dear  mamma  !  dearest  mamma!"  cried 
the  young  lady,  throwing  her  arms  round  her  mother, 
and  stopping  her.  "  You  that  never  change  a  muscle 
of  your  countenance,  how  hasty  you  are  with  your  own 
Georgiana ! — sit  down,  and  I'll  listen  patiently  !" 

Mrs.  Falconer  seated  herself,  and  Miss  Georgiana  pre- 
pared to  listen  patiently,  armed  with  a  piece  of  gold 
fringe,  which  she  rolled  and  unrolled,  and  held  in  differ- 
ent lights  and  varied  festoons  while  her  mother  spoke, 
or  as  the  young  lady  would  say,  lectured.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner was  too  well  aware  of  the  impracticableness  of 
her  daughter's  temper  to  tell  her  upon  this  occasion  the 
whole  truth,  even  if  her  own  habits  would  have  permitted 
her  to  be  sincere.  She  never  mentioned  to  Georgiana 
that  she  had  totally  given  up  the  scheme  of  marrying 
her  to  Count  Altenberg,  and  that  she  was  thoroughly 
convinced  there  was  no  chance  of  her  winning  him  ;  but 
on  the  contrary,  she  represented  to  the  young  lady  that 
the  count  had  only  a  transient  fancy  for  Miss  Caroline 


PATRONAGE.  113 

Percy,  which  would  never  come  to  any  serious  proposal, 
unless  it  was  opposed ;  that  in  a  short  time  they  should 
go  to  town,  and  the  count,  of  course,  would  return  with 
Lord  Oldborough :  then  the  game  would  be  in  her  own 
hands,  provided,  in  the  mean  time,  Georgiana  should 
conduct  herself  with  prudence  and  temper,  and  let  no 
creature  see  or  suspect  any  sort  of  anxiety ;  for  that 
would  give  such  an  advantage  against  her,  and  such  a 
triumph  to  Caroline  and  her  friends,  who,  as  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner said,  were,  no  doubt,  all  on  the  watch  to  "  inter- 
pret," or  misinterpret,  "  motions,  looks,  and  eyes." 
"  My  dear,"  concluded  the  mother,  "  your  play  is  to 
show  yourself  always  easy  and  happy,  whatever  oc- 
curs ;  occupied  with  other  things,  surrounded  by  other 
admirers,  and  encouraging  them  properly — properly  of 
course  to  pique  the  jealousy  of  your  count." 

"  My  count !"  said  Miss  Georgiana,  with  half  a  smile; 
"  but  Miss — You  say  this  fancy  of  his  will  pass  away — 
but  when  ?  When  T" 

"  You  young  people  always  say,  '  but  when  ?'  you  have 
no  idea  of  looking  forward :  a  few  months,  a  year, 
more  or  less,  what  does  it  signify  1  Georgiana,  are 
you  in  such  imminent  danger  of  growing  old  or  ugly  1" 

Georgiana  turned  her  eyes  involuntarily  towards  the 
glass,  and  smiled. 

"  But,  ma'am,  you  were  not  in  earnest  then  about 
getting  another  Zara  V 

"  The  offer  1  made — the  compliments  I  paid  in  the 
note  I  wrote  this  morning,  were  all  necessary  to  cover 
your  mistakes  of  the  night." 

"  Made  !  Wrote  !"  cried  the  young  lady,  with  terror 
in  her  voice  and  eyes  :  "  Good  Heavens  !  mother,  what 
have  you  done  V 

"I  had  no  doubt  at  the  time  I  wrote,"  continued 
Mrs.  Falconer,  coolly,  "  I  had  no  other  idea,  but  that 
Miss  Caroline  Percy  would  decline." 

"Oh!  ma'am,"  cried  Georgiana,  half  crying,  then 
stamping  with  passion,  "  Oh !  ma'am,  how  could  you 
imagine,  or  affect  to  imagine,  that  that  girl,  that  odious 
girl,  who  was  born  to  be  my  plague,  with  all  her 
affected  humility,  would  decline  1 — Decline ! — no  she 
will  be  transported  to  come  sweeping  in,  in  gorgeous 
tragedy — Zara !  Marcia !  If  the  whole  family  can  beg 
or  borrow  a  dress  for  her,  we  are  undone — that's  our 


1 14  PATRONAGE. 

only  chance.  Oh  !  mother  what  possessed  you  to  do 
this  1" 

"  Gently,  pretty  Passionate,  and  trust  to  my  judgment 
in  future,"  putting  into  her  daughter's  hands  Mrs.  Percy's 
note. 

"  Miss  Caroline  Percy — sorry — out  of  her  power ! — 
Oh !  charming  ! — a  fine  escape !"  cried  Georgiana,  de- 
lighted. "  You  may  be  sure  it  was  for  want  of  the 
dress,  though,  mamma." 

"  No  matter — but  about  yours,  my  dear  1" 

"  Oh !  yes,  ma'am — my  dress ;  that's  the  only  difficulty 
now." 

"  I  certainly  wish  you,  my  darling,  to  appear  well, 
especially  as  all  the  world  will  be  here :  the  two 
Clays — by-the-by,  here's  their  letter — they  come  to- 
morrow— and  in  short  the  whole  world :  but,  as  to 
money,  there's  but  one  way  of  putting  your  father 
into  good-humour  enough  with  you  to  touch  upon  that 
string." 

"  One  way — well,  if  there  be  one  way — any  way." 

"  Petcalf." 

"  Oh !  Petcalf  is  my  abhorrence — " 

"  There  is  the  thing !  He  was  speaking  to  your  father 
seriously  about  you,  and  your  father  sounded  me :  I 
said  you  would  never  agree,  and  he  was  quite  displeased 
— that  and  Mrs.  Sparkes's  bill  completely  overset  him. 
Now,  if  you  had  your  wish,  Georgiana — what  would  be 
your  taste,  child  ?" 

"  My  wish  !  My  taste ! — Oh !  that  would  be  for  a 
delicate,  delicate,  soft,  sentimental  blue  satin,  with 
silver  fringe,  looped  with  pearl,  for  my  .first  act ;  and  in 
my  last — " 

"  Two  dresses !  Oh !  you  extravagant !  out  of  all  possi- 
bility." 

"  I  am  only  wishing,  telling  you  my  taste,  dear  mam- 
ma. You  know  there  must  be  a  change  of  dress,  in  the 
last  act,  for  Zara's  nuptials — now  for  my  wedding  dress, 
mamma,  my  taste  would  be 

'  Shine  out,  appear,  be  found,  my  lovely  Zarn,' 

in  bridal  white  and  silver.    You  know,  ma'am,  I  am  only 

supposing." 

.    "Well  then,  supposition  for  supposition,"   replied 


PATRONAGE.  115 

Mrs.  Falconer :  "  supposing  I  let  your  father  hope  that 
you  are  not  so  decided  to  abhor  poor  Petcalf — " 

"  Oh !  dear  mamma,  I  am  so  persecuted  about  that 
Petcalf!  and  compared  with  Count  Altenberg,  my  father 
must  be  blind  or  think  me  an  idiot." 
:  "  Oh !  between  him  and  the  count  there  is  no  compari- 
son, to  be  sure  ;  but  I  forgot  to  mention,  that  what  your 
father  builds  upon  is  our  poor  old  friend  the  general's 
death — Clay  here,  in  a  postscript,  you  see,  mentions  the 
gout  in  his  stomach — so  I  am  afraid  he  is  as  good  as 
gone,  as  your  father  says,  and  then  TheLodge'm  AsiaMinor 
is  certainly  a  pretty  place  to  sit  down  upon,  if  one  could 
do  no  better." 

"  But,  ma'am,  the  count's  vast  possessions  and  rank !" 

"  I  grant  you  all  that,  my  dear ;  but  our  present  ob- 
ject is  the  play, — Zara's  royal  robes  cannot  be  had  for 
nothing,  you  know, — you  never  listened  to  my  infallible 
means  of  obtaining  your  wish :  I  think  I  can  engage 
that  the  commissioner  will  not  refuse  us,  if  you  will 
empower  me  to  say  to  him,  that  by  this  time  twelve- 
month, if  nothing  better  offers — mind  my  if—  Petcalf 
shall  be  rewarded  for  his  constancy." 

"  If — Oh !  dear  me !  But  before  this  time  twelve- 
month the  count — " 

"  Or  one  of  the  Clays  might  offer,  and  in  that  case, 
my  if  brings  you  off  safe  with  your  father." 

"  Well,  then,  mamma,  upon  condition  that  you  will 
promise  me,  upon  your  word,  you  will  lay  a  marked 
emphasis  upon  your  if — I  believe,  for  Zara's  sake,  I 
must — " 

"  I  knew  you  would  behave  at  last  like  a  sensible  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer :  "  I'll  go  and  speak  to  your  father 
directly." 

Mrs.  Falconer  thus  fairly  gained  her  point,  by  setting 
Georgiana's  passion  for  dress  against  her  passion  for 
Count  Altenberg;  and  having,  moreover,  under  false 
pretences,  extorted  from  the  young  lady  many  promises 
to  keep  her  temper  prudently,  and  to  be  upon  the  best 
terms  possible  with  her  rival,  the  mother  went  away 
perfectly  satisfied  with  her  own  address. 

The  father  was  brought  to  perform  his  part,  not  withr 
out  difficulty, — carte  blanche  for  Zara's  sentimental 
blue  and  bridal  white  robes  was  obtained,  silver  fringe 
and  pearls  inclusive :  the  triumphant  Zara  rang  for  the 
base  confidante  of  her  late  distresses, — Lydia  Sharpe 


116  PATRONAGE. 

re-entered,  with  the  four  dresses  upon  sale ;  but  she  and 
her  guineas,  and  the  most  honourable  appraisers,  all 
were  treated  with  becoming  scorn ;  and  as  Lydia  obeyed 
her  young  lady's  orders  to  replace  her  clothes  in  her 
wardrobe,  and  never  to  think  of  them  more,  they  sud- 
denly rose  in  value  in  her  estimation,  and  she  repented 
that  she  had  been  quite  so  much  of  an  extortioner.  She 
knew  the  difference  of  her  mistress's  tone  when  disap- 
pointed or  successful,  and  guessed  that  supplies  had 
been  obtained  by  some  means  or  other :  "  New  dresses, 
I  smell,  are  the  order  of  the  day,"  said  Lydia  Sharpeto 
herself;  "  but  I'll  engage  she  will  want  me  presently  to 
make  them  up :  so  I  warrant  I  won't  come  down  off  my 
high  horse  till  I  see  why — Miss  Georgiana  Falconer, 
ma'am,  I  beg  pardon — you  are  the  mistress — I  meant 
only  to  oblige  and  accommodate  when  called  upon — but 
if  I'm  not  wanted,  I'm  not  wanted — and  I  hope  ladies 
will  find  them  that  will  be  more  abler  and  willinger  to 
serve  them." 

So  saying,  half  flouncing,  half  pouting,  she  retired. 
Her  young  lady,  aware  that  Lydia's  talents  and  expe- 
ditious performance,  as  a  mantua- maker  and  a  milliner, 
were  essential  to  the  appearance  of  Zara,  suppressed 
her  own  resentment,  submitted  to  her  maid's  insolence, 
and  brought  her  into  humour  again  that  night,  by  a  pres- 
ent of  the  famous  white  satin. 

In  dne  time,  consequently,  the  Turkish  dresses  were 
in  great  forwardness.  Lest  we  should  never  get  to  the 
play,  we  forbear  to  relate  all  the  various  frettings,  jeal- 
ousies, clashing  vanities,  and  petty  quarrels,  which  oc- 
curred between  the  actresses  and  their  friends,  during 
the  getting  up  of  this  piece  and  its  rehearsals.  We 
need  mention  only  that  the  seeds  of  an  irreconcilable 
dislike  were  sown  at  this  time  between  the  Miss  Fal- 
coners and  their  dear  friends  the  Lady  Arlingtons :  there 
was  some  difficulty  made  by  Lady  Anne  about  lending 
her  diamond  crescent  for  Zara's  turban, — Miss  Georgi- 
ana could  never  forgive  this  :  and  Lady  Frances,  on  her 
part,  was  provoked,  beyond  measure,  by  an  order  from 
the  duke,  her  uncle,  forbidding  her  to  appear  on  the 
stage.  She  had  some  reason  to  suspect  that  this  order 
came  in  consequence  of  a  treacherous  hint  in  a  letter 
of  Georgiana's  to  Lady  Trant,  which  went  round, 
through  Lady  Jane  Granville,  to  the  duke,  who, 
otherwise,  as  Lady  Frances  observed,  "in  the  midst 


PATRONAGE.  1 17 

of  his  politics,  might  never  have  heard  a  word  of  the 
matter." 

Mrs.  Falconer  had  need  of  all  her  power  over  the 
muscles  of  her  face,  and  all  her  address,  in  these  deli- 
cate and  difficult  circumstances.  Her  daughter  Ara- 
bella, too,  was  sullen, — the  young  lady  was  subject  to 
her  brother  John's  fits  of  obstinacy.  For  some  time 
she  could  not  be  brought  to  undertake  the  part  of 
Selima,  and  no  other  Selima  was  to  be  had.  She  did 
not  see  why  she  should  condescend  to  play  the  confi- 
dante for  Georgiana's  Zara, — why  she  was  to  be  sacri- 
ficed to  her  sister  ;  and  Sir  Robert  Percy,  her  admirer, 
not  even  to  be  invited,  because  the  other  Percys  were 
to  come. 

Mrs.  Falconer  plied  her  well  with  flattery,  through 
Colonel  Spandrill;  and  at  last  Arabella  was  pacified,  by 
a  promise  that  the  following  week  "  Love  in  a  Village," 
or  "  The  Lord  of  the  Manor,"  should  be  acted,  in  which 
she  should  choose  her  part,  and  in  which  her  voice  and 
musical  talents  would  be  brought  forward, — and  Sir 
Robert  Percy  and  his  friends  should  be  the  principal 
auditors. 

Recovered,  or  partly  recovered,  from  her  fit  of  the 
sullens,  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  say  she  would  try 
what  she  could  do  in  Selima. 

The  parts  were  learned  by  heart ;  the  dresses,  after 
innumerable  alterations,  finished  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  heroes  and  heroines  of  the  drama. 

Their  quarrels,  and  the  quarrels  of  their  friends  and 
of  their  servants,  male  and  female,  were  at  last  hushed 
to  temporary  repose,  and — the  great,  the  important  day 
arrived. 

The  preceding  evening,  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  she  sat 
quite  exhausted  in  the  green-room,  was  heard  to  de- 
clare, she  was  so  tired,  that  she  would  not  go  through 
the  same  thing  again,  for  one  month,  to  be  queen  of 
England. 


1 18  PATRONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII, 

THE  theatre  at  Falconer-court  was  not  very  spacious, 
but  -it  was  elegantly  fitted  up,  extremely  well  lighted, 
and  had  a  good  effect.  There  was  a  brilliant  audience, 
an  excellent  band  of  music,,  and  the  whole  had  a  gay 
and  festive  appearance. 

The  Percy  family,  as  they  came  from  a  great  dis- 
tance, were  late.  The  house  was  crowded.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner was  obliged  to  seat  Mrs.  Percy  and  her  daughters 
with  the  Lady  Arlingtons  on  a  bench  upon  the  stage : 
a  conspicuous  situation,  which  had  been  reserved  for 
their  ladyships. 

Every  eye  instantly  turned  upon  the  beautiful  Caro- 
line. She  bore  the  gaae  of  public  admiration  with  a 
blushing  dignity,  which  interested  everybody  in  her 
favour.  Count  Altenberg,  who  had  anxiously  expected 
the  moment  of  her  arrival,  was,  however,  upon  his 
guard.  Knowing  that  he  was  watched  by  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's friends,  he  was  determined  that  his  secret 
thoughts  should  not  be  seen.  One  involuntary  glance 
he  gave,  but  immediately  withdrew  his  eye,  and  con- 
tinued his  conversation~with  the  gentleman  next  to  him. 
After  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  he  could  indulge 
himself  in  looking  at  Caroline  unobserved,  for  the  gaze 
of  public  admiration  is  as  transient  as  it  is  eager.  It 
is  surprising  how  short  a  time  any  face,  however  beau- 
tiful, engages  numbers  who  meet  together  to  be  seen. 

The  audience  were  now  happily  full  of  themselves, 
arranging  their  seats,  and  doing  civilities  to  those  of 
their  friends  who  were  worthy  of  notice. 

"  Lady  Trant !  won't  your  ladyship  sit  in  the  front 
row  t" 

'  I'm  vastly  well,  thank  you." 

'  Lady  Kew,  I  am  afraid  you  won't  see  over  my 
head." 

'  Oh !  I  assure  you — perfectly — perfectly." 

'  Colonel  Spandrill,  I'll  trouble  you — my  shawl." 

'  Clay,  lend  me  your  opera-glass. — How  did  you 
leave  all  at  Bath  t" 


tATRONAGfc.  119 

"  I'm  so  glad  that  General  Petcalf  s  gout  in  his  stom- 
ach did  not  carry  him  off — for  young  Petcalf  could  not 
have  acted,  you  know,  to-night. — Mrs.  Harcourt  is  try- 
ing to  catch  your  eye,  Lady  Kew." 

All  those  who  were  new  to  the  theatre  at  Falconer- 
court,  or  who  were  not  intimate  with  the  family,  were 
in  great  anxiety  to  inform  themselves  on  one  important 
point,  before  the  prologue  should  begin.  Stretching  to 
those  who  were,  or  had  the  reputation  of  being,  good 
authorities,  they  asked  in  whispers,  "  Do  you  know  if 
there  is  to  be  any  clapping  of  hands  ? — Can  you  tell  me 
whether  it  is  allowable  to  say  any  thing  V 

It  seems  that  at  some  private  theatres  loud  demon- 
strations of  applause  were  forbidden.  It  was  thought 
more  genteel  to  approve  and  admire  in  silence, — thus 
to  draw  the  line  between  professional  actors  and  ac- 
tresses, and  gentlemen  and  lady  performers.  Upon 
trial,  however,  in  some  instances,  it  had  been  found  that 
the  difference  was  sufficiently  obvious,  without  marking 
it  by  any  invidious  distinction.  Young  and  old  amateurs 
have  acknowledged,  that  the  silence,  however  genteel, 
was  so  dreadfully  awful,  that  they  preferred  even  the 
noise  of  vulgar  acclamations. 

The  cup  of  flattery  was  found  so  sweet,  that  objec- 
tions were  no  longer  made  to  swallowing  it  in  public. 

The  overture  finished,  the  prologue,  which  was 
written  by  Mr.  Seebright,  was  received  with  merited 
applause.  And,  after  a  buzz  of  requests  and  promises 
for  copies,  the  house  was  silent — the  curtain  drew  up, 
and  the  first  appearance  of  Zara,  in  the  delicate  senti- 
mental blue  satin,  was  hailed  with  plaudits,  long  and 
loud, — plaudits  which  were  reiterated  at  the  end  of  her 
first  speech,  which  was,  indeed,  extremely  well  recited. 
Count  Altenberg  leaned  forward,  and  seemed  to  listen 
with  delight ;  then  stood  up,  and  several  times  renewed 
his  plaudits ;  at  first,  with  an  appearance  of  timidity, 
afterward,  with  decision  and  energy.  Miss  Georgians 
Falconer  really  acted  uncommonly  well,  so  that  he  could 
without  flattery  applaud ;  and  if  he  did  exaggerate  a 
little  in  the  expression  of  his  admiration,  he  deemed  it 
allowable.  He  had  another  object :  he  was  absolutely 
determined  to  see  whether  or  not  Caroline  was  capable 
of  the  mean  passions  which  had  disgusted  him  in  her 
rival.  He  reflected  that  he  had  seen  her  only  when  she 
was  triumphant ;  and  he  was  anxious  to  know  how  she 


120  PATRONAGE. 

would  appear  in  different  circumstances.  Of  her  high 
intellectual  endowments,  he  could  not  doubt ;  but  tem- 
per is  not  always  a  blessing  given  to  the  fair,  or  even 
to  the  wise.  It  may  seem  strange  that  a  gallant  man 
should  think  of  a  beauty's  temper ;  and,  probably,  if 
Count  Altenberg  had  considered  Caroline  only  as  a 
beauty,  he  would  not  have  troubled  himself  to  make,  on 
this  point,  any  severe  and  dangerous  scrutiny. 

The  play  went  on — Zara  sustaining  the  interest  of 
the  scene.  She  was  but  feebly  supported  by  the  sulky 
Selima,  and  the  other  parts  were  but  ill  performed. 
The  faults  common  to  unpractised  actors  occurred  :  one 
of  Osman's  arms  never  moved,  and  the  other  sawed  the 
air  perpetually,  as  if  in  pure  despite  of  Hamlet's  prohi- 
bition. Then,  in  crossing  over,  Osman  was  continually 
entangled  in  Zara's  robe ;  or,  when  standing  still,  she 
was  obliged  to  twitch  her  train  thrice  before  she  could 
get  it  from  beneath  his  leaden  feet.  When  confident 
that  he  could  repeat  a  speech  fluently,  he  was  apt  to 
turn  his  back  upon  his  mistress  ;  or,  when  he  felt  him- 
self called  upon  to  listen  to  his  mistress,  he  would  regu- 
larly turn  his  back  upon  the  audience.  But  all  these 
are  defects  permitted  by  the  license  of  a  private  theatre, 
allowable  by  courtesy  to  gentlemen-actors ;  and  things 
went  on  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  Osman  had  not 
his  part  by  heart,  but  still  Zara  covered  all  deficiencies : 
and  Osman  did  no  worse  than  other  Osmans  had  done 
before  him,  till  he  came  to  the  long  speech,  beginning 
with, — 

"  The  sultans,  my  great  ancestors,  bequeath'd 
Their  empire  to  me,  but  their  tastes  they  gave  not." 

Powerful  prompting  got  him  through  the  first  six  lines 
decently  enough,  till  he  came  to 

" wasting  tenderness  in  wild  profusion, 

I  might  look  down  to  my  surrounded  feet, 
And  bless  contending  beauties." 

At  this  he  bungled  sadly — his  hearing  suddenly  failing 
as  well  as  his  memory,  there  was  a  dead  stop.  In  vain 
the  prompter,  the  scene-shifter,  the  candle-snuffer,  as 
loud  as  they  could,  and  much  louder  than  they  ought, 
reiterated  the  next  sentence, 

"  I  might  speak, 
Serenely  slothful." 


PATRONAGE.  121 

It  was  plain  that  Osman  could  not  speak,  nor  was  he 
"  serene."  He  had  begun,  as  in  dangers  great  he  was 
wont,  to  kick  his  left  ancle-bone  rapidly  with  his  right 
heel ;  and  through  the  pomp  of  Osman's  oriental  robes 
and  turban  young  Petcalf  stood  confessed.  He  threw 
back  an  angry  look  at  the  prompter — Zara,  terrified, 
gave  up  all  for  lost — the  two  Lady  Arlingtons  retreated 
behind  the  scenes  to  laugh — the  polite  audience  strug- 
gled not  to  smile.  Count  Altenberg  at  this  moment 
looked  at  Caroline,  who,  instead  of  joining  in  the  laugh, 
showed  by  her  countenance  and  manner  the  most  good- 
natured  sympathy. 

Zara  recovering  her  presence  of  mind,  swept  across 
the  stage  in  such  a  manner  as  to  hide  from  view  her 
kicking  sultan ;  and  as  she  passed ,  she  whispered  the 
line  to  him  so  distinctly,  that  he  caught  the  sound,  left 
off  kicking,  went  on  with  his  speech,  and  all  was  well 
again.  Count  Altenberg  forgot  to  join  in  the  cheering 
plaudits,  he  was  so  much  charmed  at  that  instant  by 
Caroline's  smile. 

Fortunately  for  Zara,  and  for  the  audience,  in  the  next 
scenes  the  part  of  Lusignan  was  performed  by  a  gentle- 
man who  had  been  well  used  to  acting — though  he  was 
not  a  man  of  any  extraordinary  capacity,  yet,  from  his 
habit  of  the  boards,  and  his  being  perfect  in  his  part, 
he  now  seemed  quite  a  superior  person.  It  was  found 
unaccountably  easier  to  act  with  this  son  of  labour  than 
with  any  other  of  the  gentlemen-performers,  though 
they  were  all  natural  geniuses. 

The  moment  Zara  appeared  with  Lusignan,  her  pow- 
ers shone  forth — nothing  spoiled  the  illusion,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  audience  was  fixed,  their  interest  was  sus- 
tained, their  feelings  touched.  The  exercise  of  the  fan 
ceased  in  the  front  rows,  glasses  of  lemonade  were  held 
untasted,  and  nobody  consulted  the  play-bill.  Excited 
by  success,  sympathy,  and  applause  the  most  flattering, 
Zara  went  on  with  increasing  eclat. 

Meanwhile  the  Percy  family,  who  were  quite  intent 
upon  the  play,  began  to  find  their  situation  disagreeable 
from  some  noise  behind  the  scenes.  A  party  of  ladies, 
among  whom  was  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  stood  whis- 
pering so  loud  close  to  Caroline  that  their  voices  were 
heard  by  her  more  distinctly  than  those  of  the  actors. 
Lady  Frances  stood  half  hid  between  the  side  scenes, 
holding  a  little  white  dog  in  her  arms. 

VOL.  XV.— F 


122  PATRONAGE. 

"  Hush !"  cried  her  ladyship,  putting  her  fingers  on 
her  lips — her  companions  became  silent  instantly.  The 
house  was  now  in  profound  attention.  Zara  was  in  the 
midst  of  her  favourite  speech, 

"  Would  you  learn  more,  and  open  all  my  heart  ? 
Know  then  that,  spite  of  this  renew'd  injustice, 
I  do  not — cannot  wish — to  love  you  less ; 
— That  Ion;  before  you  look'il  so  low  as  Zara, 
She  gave  her  bean  to  Osnian." 

At  the  name  of  Osman,  the  dog  started  and  struggled — 
Lady  Frances  appeared  to  restrain  him,  but  he  ran  on 
the  stage — leaped  up  on  Zara — and  at  the  repetition  of 
the  name  of  Osman  sat  down  on  his  hind  legs,  begged 
with  his  fore-paws,  and  began  to  whine  in  such  a  pite- 
ous manner  that  the  whole  audience  were  on  the  brink  of 
laughter — Zara,  and  all  her  attendants  and  friends,  lost 
their  presence  of  mind. 

Caroline  sprang  forward  quite  across  the  stage,  caught 
the  dog  in  her  arms,  and  carried  him  off.  Count  Alten- 
berg, no  longer  master  of  himself,  clapped  his  hands, 
and  the  whole  house  resounded  with  applause.  Miss 
Georgiana  Falconer  misunderstood  the  cause  of  the 
plaudits,  imagined  that  she  was  encored,  cast  down  her 
eyes,  and,  as  soon  as  there  was  silence,  advanced  and 
recommenced  her  speech,  of  which  Count  Altenberg  did 
not  hear  one  word. 

This  malicious  trick  had  been  contrived  by  Lady 
Frances  Arlington,  to  revenge  herself  on  Miss  Georgiana 
Falconer  for  having  prevented  her  from  taking  a  part  in 
the  play.  Her  ladyship  had,  in  the  course  of  the  re- 
hearsals, privately  drilled  her  dog  to  answer  to  the  name 
of  Osman,  when  that  name  was  pronounced  in  Zara's 
tragic  tone.  The  dog  had  been  kept  out  of  the  way  till 
Zara  was  in  the  midst  of  that  speech  in  which  she  calls 
repeatedly  on  the  name  of  Osman.  This  trick  had  been 
so  well  contrived,  that  all  but  those  who  were  in  the 
secret  imagined  that  the  appearance  of  the  dog  at  this 
unlucky  moment  had  been  accidental.  The  truth  began 
indeed  to  be  soon  whispered  in  confidence. 

But  to  return  to  Count  Altenberg.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  play,  when  the  idea  of  trying  Caroline's 
temper  had  occurred  to  him,  he  had  felt  some  anxiety 
lest  all  the  high  expectations  he  had  formed,  all  the 
bright  enchantment,  should  vanish.  In  the  first  act,  he 
had  begun  by  joining  timidly  in  the  general  applause  of 


PATRONAGE.  123 

Zara,  dreading  lest  Caroline  should  not  be  blessed  with 
that  temper  which  could  bear  the  praises  of  a  rival 
"  with  unwounded  ear."  But  the  count  applauded  with 
more  confidence  in  the  second  act ;  during  the  third  was 
quite  at  his  ease  ;  and  in  the  fifth  could  not  forgive  him- 
self for  having  supposed  it  possible  that  Caroline  could 
be  liable  to  any  of  the  foibles  of  her  sex. 

In  the  mean  time  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  in  high 
spirits,  intoxicated  with  vanity,  was  persuaded  that  the 
count  had  returned  to  his  senses ;  and  so  little  did  she 
know  of  his  character,  or  of  the  human  heart,  as  to  ex- 
pect that  a  declaration  of  love  would  soon  follow  this 
public  profession  of  admiration.  Such  was  the  confu- 
sion of  her  ideas,  that  she  was  confident  Zara  was  on 
the  point  of  becoming  Countess  of  Altenberg. 

After  the  play  was  over,  and  a  thousand  compliments 
had  been  paid  and  received,  most  of  the  company  called 
for  their  carriages.  The  house  emptied  fast :  there  re- 
mained only  a  select  party,  who  were  to  stay  supper. 
They  soon  adjourned  to  the  green-room  to  repeat  their 
tribute  of  applause  to  the  actors.  High  in  the  midst 
stood  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  receiving  incense  from 
a  crowd  of  adorers.  As  Count  Altenberg  approached, 
she  assumed  a  languishing  air  of  softness  and  sensibility. 
The  count  said  all  that  could  reasonably  be  expected, 
but  his  compliments  did  not  seem  quite  to  satisfy  the  lady. 
She  was  in  hopes  that  he  was  going  to  say  something 
more  to  her  taste,  when  French  Clay  pressed  forward, 
which  he  did  with  an  air  neither  French  nor  English. 
He  protested  that  he  could  not  have  conceived  it  possi- 
ble for  the  powers  of  any  actress  upon  earth  to  interest 
him  for  the  English  Zara  ;  "  but  you,  madam,"  said  he, 
"  have  done  the  impossible ;  and  now  I  should  die  con- 
tent, if  I  could  see  your  genius  do  justice  to  Zaire. 
How  you  would  shine  in  the  divine  original  when  you 
could  do  such  wonders  for  a  miserable  translation !" 

Several  gentlemen,  and  among  others  Mr.  Percy, 
would  not  allow  that  the  English  translation  deserved  to 
be  called  miserable.  "  The  wrong  side  of  the  tapestry 
we  cannot  expect  should  be  quite  equal  to  the  right 
side,"  said  he :  "  Voltaire  pointed  out  a  few  odd  ends 
here  and  there,  which  disfigured  the  work,  and  required 
to  be  cut  off;  but  upon  the  whole,  if  I  recollect,  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  piece,  and  complimented  Mr,  Hill 
F2 


124  PATRONAGE. 

upon  having  preserved  the  general  design,  spirit,  and 
simplicity  of  the  original." 

"  Mere  politeness  in  M.  de  Voltaire !"  replied  French 
Clay ;  "  but,  in  effect,  Zaire  is  absolutely  incapable  of 
any  thing  more  than  being  done  into  English.  For  ex- 
ample, will  anybody  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me,"  said 
he,  looking  round,  and  fixing  his  look  of  appeal  on  Miss 
Caroline  Percy,  "  how  would  you  translate  the  famous 
'  Zaire — vous  pleurez  /" 

"  Is  not  it  translated,"  said  Caroline,  "  by  '  Zara !  you 
weep  1'  " 

"  Ah !  pardonnez  moi  /"  cried  French  Clay,  with  a 
shrug  meant  to  be  French ;  but  which  English  shoul- 
ders could  not  cleverly  execute — "  Ah !  pardonnez !  to 
my  ears  now  that  says  nothing." 

"  To  our  feelings  it  said  a  great  deal  just  now,"  said 
Caroline,  looking  at  Zara  in  a  manner  which  was  lost 
upon  her  feelings,  but  not  upon  Count  Altenberg's. 

"  Ah !  indubitably  I  admit,"  cried  Mr.  Clay, "  la  beauit 
est  toujours  dans  son  pays,  and  tears  fortunately  need  no 
translation ;  but  when  we  come  to  words,  you  will  allow 
me,  ma'am,  that  the  language  of  fine  feeling  is  abso- 
lutely untranslatable,  unlransfusible." 

Caroline  seemed  to  wish  to  avoid  being  drawn  for- 
ward to  further  discussion,  but  Mr.  CJay  repeated,  in  a 
tone  of  soft  condescension,  "  Your  silence  flatters  me 
with  the  hope,  ma'am,  that  we  agree  ?" 

Caroline  could  not  submit  to  this  interpretation  of  her 
silence,  and  blushing,  but  without  being  disconcerted, 
she  answered,  that  she  had  always  heard,  and  believed, 
it  was  the  test  of  true  feeling,  as  of  true  wit,  that  it 
can  be  easily  understood,  and  that  its  language  is  uni- 
versal. 

"  If  I  had  ever  doubted  that  truth,"  said  Count  Alten- 
berg,  "  I  should  have  been  convinced  of  it  by  what  I 
have  seen  and  heard  this  night." 

Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  bowed  her  head  graciously 
to  the  count,  and  smiled,  and  sighed.  Lady  Frances 
Arlington  and  Rosamond  smiled  at  the  same  moment, 
for  they  perceived  by  the  universal  language  of  the  eye, 
that  what  Count  Altenberg  said  was  not  intended  for  the 
lady  who  took  it  so  decidedly  to  herself.  This  was  the 
second  time  this  night  that  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer's 
vanity  had  appropriated  to  herself  a  compliment  in 


PATRONAGE.  125 

which  she  had  no  share.  Yet,  even  at  this  moment, 
which,  as  she  conceived,  was  a  moment  of  triumph, 
while  she  was  encircled  by  adorers,  while  the  voice  of 
praise  yet  vibrated  in  her  ears,  she  felt  anguish  at  per- 
ceiving the  serenity  of  her  rival's  countenance ;  and, 
however  strange  it  may  appear,  actually  envied  Caroline 
for  not  being  envious. 

Mrs.  Falconer,  skilled  in  every  turn  of  her  daughter's 
temper,  which  she  was  now  obliged  to  follow  and  hu- 
mour, or  dexterously  to  counteract,  lest  it  should  ruin 
all  schemes  for  her  establishment,  saw  the  cloud  gather- 
ing on  Zara's  brow,  and  immediately  fixed  the  attention 
of  the  company  upon  the  beauty  of  her  dress  and  the 
fine  folds  of  her  velvet  train.  She  commenced  lamen- 
tations on  the  difference  between  English  and  French 
velvets.  French  Clay,  as  she  had  foreseen,  took  up  the 
word,  and  talked  of  velvets  till  supper  was  announced. 

When  Mrs.  Falconer  attended  Lady  Trant  and  Lady 
Kew  to  their  rooms,  a  nocturnal  conference  was  held  in 
Lady  Trant's  apartment,  where,  of  course,  in  the  most 
confidential  manner,  their  ladyships  sat  talking  over  the 
events  of  the  day,  and  of  some  matters  too  interesting 
to  be  spoken  of  in  general  society.  They  began  to  con- 
gratulate Mrs.  Falconer  upon  the  impression  which  Zara 
had  made  on  Count  Altenberg ;  but  the  wily  mother  re- 
pressed their  premature  felicitations.  She  protested 
she  was  positively  certain  that  the  person  in  question 
had  now  no  thoughts  of  Georgiana,  such  as  their  lady- 
ships' partiality  to  her  might  lead  them  to  suppose ;  and 
now,  when  the  business  was  over,  she  might  venture  to 
declare  that  nothing  could  have  persuaded  her  to  let  a 
daughter  of  hers  marry  a  foreigner.  She  should  have 
been  sorry  to  give  offence  to  such  an  amiable  and  well- 
informed  young  nobleman  ;  and  she  really  rejoiced  that, 
if  her  sentiments  had  been,  as  no  doubt  by  a  person  of 
his  penetration  they  must  have  been,  discovered,  Count 
Altenberg  had  taken  the  hint  without  being  offended : 
indeed,  she  had  felt  it  a  point  of  conscience  to  let  the 
truth  be  seen  time  enough,  to  prevent  his  coming  to  a 
downright  proposal,  and  having  the  mortification  of  an 
absolute  refusal.  Other  mothers,  she  knew,  might  feel 
differently  about  giving  a  daughter  to  a  foreigner,  and 
other  young  ladies  might  feel  differently  from  her  Geor- 
giana. Where  there  was  so  great  an  establishment  in 
prospect,  and  rank,  and  fashion,  and  figure,  to  sav 


126  PATRONAGE. 

nothing  of  talents,  it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  such 
temptations  should  be  resisted  in  a.  certain  family,  where 
it  was  so  very  desirable,  and  indeed  necessary,  to  get  a 
daughter  married  without  a  portion.  Mrs.  Falconer  de- 
clared that  on  every  account  she  should  rejoice,  if  things 
should  happen  to  turn  out  so.  The  present  object  was 
every  way  worthy,  and  charming.  She  was  a  young 
lady  for  whom,  even  from  the  little  she  had  seen  of  her, 
she  confessed  she  felt  uncommonly  interested — putting 
relationship  out  of  the  question. 

Thus  having  with  able  generalship  secured  a  retreat 
for  herself  and  for  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Falconer  retired 
to  rest. 

Early  the  next  morning  one  of  Lord  Oldborough's 
grooms  brought  a  note  for  Mr.  Percy.  Commissioner 
Falconer's  confidential  servant  took  the  note  imme- 
diately up  to  his  master's  bedchamber,  to  inquire  whe- 
ther it  would  be  proper  to  waken  Mr.  Percy  to  give  it 
to  him,  or  to  make  the  groom  wait  till  Mr.  Percy  should 
come  down  to  breakfast. 

The  commissioner  sat  up  in  his  bed,  rubbed  his  eyes, 
read  the  direction  of  the  note,  many  times  turned  and 
returned  it,  and  desired  to  see  the  man  who  brought  it. 
The  groom  was  shown  in. 

"  How  is  my  lord's  gout  ?" 

"  Quite  well,  sir  :  my  lord  was  out  yesterday  in  the 
park — both  a-horseback  and  a-foot." 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  it.  And  pray  did  any 
despatches  come  last  night  from  town,  can  you  tell, 
sir  V 

"  I  really  can't  particularly  say,  sir — I  was  out  with 
the  horses." 

"  But  about  this  note  ?"  said  the  commissioner. 

The  result  of  the  cross-examination  that  followed 
gave  reason  to  believe  that  the  note  contained  an  invi- 
tation to  breakfast,  because  he  had  heard  Mr.  Rodney, 
my  lord's  own  gentleman,  tell  the  man  whose  business 
it  was  to  attend  at  breakfast  that  my  lord  would  break- 
fast in  his  own  room,  and  expected  a  friend  to  breakfast 
with  him. 

"  A  friend — Hum !  Was  there  no  note  to  me  J — no 
message  1" 

"  None,  sir — as  I  know." 

"Very  extraordinary."  Mr.  Falconer  inclined  to 
keep  the  man  till  breakfast-time,  but  he  would  not  be 


PATRONAGE.  127 

kept — he  had  orders  to  return  with  an  answer  imme- 
diately; and  he  had  been  on  the  fidgets  all  the  time  the 
commissioner  had  been  detaining  him ;  for  Lord  Old- 
borough's  messengers  could  not  venture  to  delay.  The 
note  was  consequently  delivered  to  Mr.  Percy  imme- 
diately, and  Mr.  Percy  went  to  breakfast  at  Clermont- 
park.  The  commissioner's  breakfast  was  spoiled  by 
the  curiosity  this  invitation  excited,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  chew  green-tea  for  the  heartburn  with  great  dili- 
gence. Meantime  the  company  were  all  talking  the 
play  over  and  over  again,  till  at  last,  when  even  Zara 
appeared  to  be  satiated  with  the  subject,  the  conversa- 
tion diverged  a  little  to  other  topics.  Unluckily  French 
Clay  usurped  so  large  a  portion  of  attention,  that  Count 
Altenberg's  voice  was  for  some  time  scarcely  heard — • 
the  contrast  was  striking  between  a  really  well-bred 
polished  foreigner,  and  a  man,  who,  having  kept  bad 
company  abroad,  and  having  formed  himself  on  a  few 
bad  models,  presented  an  exaggerated  imitation  of  those 
who  were  ridiculous,  detested,  or  unknown  in  good 
society  at  Paris ;  and  whom  the  nation  would  utterly 
disclaim  as  representatives  of  their  morals  or  manners. 
At  this  period  of  their  acquaintance  with  Count  Alten- 
berg,  every  circumstance  which  drew  out  his  charac- 
ter, tastes,  and  opinions,  was  interesting  to  the  Percy 
family  in  general,  and  in  particular  to  Caroline.  The 
most  commonplace  and  disagreeable  characters  often 
promoted  this  purpose,  and  thus  afforded  means  of 
amusement,  and  materials  for  reflection.  Towards  the 
end  of  breakfast,  the  newspapers  were  brought  in — the 
commissioner,  who  had  wondered  frequently  what  could 
make  them  so  late,  seized  upon  the  government-paper 
directly,  which  he  pocketed  and  retired,  after  handing 
other  newspapers  to  Count  Altenberg  and  to  the 
Mr.  Clays.  English  Clay,  setting  down  his  well- 
sugared  cup  of  tea,  leaving  a  happily- prepared  morsel 
of  ham  and  bread  and  butter  on  his  plate,  turned  his 
back  upon  the  ladies ;  and  comfortably  settling  himself 
with  his  arm  over  his  chair,  and  the  light  full  upon 
London  news,  began  to  read  to  himself.  Count  Alten- 
berg glanced  at  Continental  News,  as  he  unfolded  his 
paper,  but  instantly  turned  to  Gazette  Extraordinary, 
which  he  laid  before  Mrs.  Falconer.  She  requested 
him,  if  it  was  not  too  much  trouble,  to  read  it  aloud. 
"  I  hope  my  foreign  accent  will  not  make  it  unintelli- 


128  PATRONAGE. 

gible,"  said  he ;  and  without  further  preface,  or  consider- 
ing how  he  was  to  appear  himself,  he  obeyed.  Though 
he  had  not  a  perfectly  English  accent,  he  showed  that 
he  had  a  thoroughly  English  heart,  by  the  joy  and  pride 
he  took  in  reading  an  account  of  a  great  victory. 

English  Clay  turned  round  upon  his  chair,  and  setting 
his  arms  a-kimbo,  with  the  newspaper  still  fast  in  his 
hand,  and  his  elbow  sticking  out  across  Lady  Anne 
Arlington,  sat  facing  the  count,  and  listening  to  him 
with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  Why,  d — m  me,  but  you're  a 
good  fellow,  after  all !"  exclaimed  he,  "  though  you  are 
not  an  Englishman !" 

"  By  the  mother's  side  I  am,  sir,"  replied  Count  Alten- 
berg.  "  I  may  boast  that  I  am  at  least  half  an  English- 
man." 

"  Half  is  better  than  the  whole,"  said  French  Clay 
scornfully. 

"  By  the  Lord,  I  could  have  sworn  his  mother,  or 
some  of  his  blood,  was  English !"  cried  English  Clay. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am — 'fraid  I  annoy  your  lady- 
ship 1"  added  he,  perceiving  that  the  Lady  Anne  haugh- 
tily retreated  from  his  offending  elbow. 

Then  sensible  of  having  committed  himself  by  his 
sudden  burst  of  feeling,  he  coloured  all  over,  took  up 
his  tea,  drank  as  if  he  wished  to  hide  his  face  for  ever 
in  the  cup,  recovered  his  head  with  mighty  effort,  turned 
round  again  to  his  newspaper,  and  was  cold  and  silent 
as  before.  His  brother  meanwhile  was,  or  affected  to  be, 
more  intent  upon  some  eau  sucree  that  he  was  prepar- 
ing for  himself,  than  upon  the  fate  of  the  army  and  navy 
of  Spain  or  England.  Rising  from  the  breakfast  table  he 
went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  threw  himself  at  full 
length  upon  a  sofa;  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  who  de- 
tested politics,  immediately  followed,  and  led  the  way  to  a 
work-table,  round  which  the  ladies  gathered,  and  formed 
themselves  in  a  few  minutes  into  a  committee  of  dress, 
all  speaking  at  once ;  Count  Altenberg  went  with  the 
ladies  out  of  the  breakfast-room,  where  English  Clay 
would  have  been  happy  to  have  remained  alone ;  but 
being  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  servants,  he 
could  not  enjoy  peaceable  possession,  and  he  was  com- 
pelled also  to  follow  :  getting  as  far  as  he  could  from 
the  female  committee,  he  took  Petcalf  into  a  window- 
to  talk  of  horses,  and  commenced  a  history  of  the  colts 
of  Regulus,  and  of  the  plates  they  had  won. 


PATRONAGE.  129 

French  Clay,  rising  from  the  sofa,  and  adjusting  his 
cravat  at  a  looking-glass,  carelessly  said,  addressing 
himself  to  Count  Altenberg,  "  I  think,  M.  le  Comte,  I 
heard  you  say  something  about  public  feelings.  Now, 
I  do  not  comprehend  precisely  what  is  meant  by  public 
feelings  ;  for  my  part,  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  have 
none." 

"  I  certainly  must  have  expressed  myself  ill,"  replied 
Count  Altenberg ;  "  I  should  have  said,  love  of  oar 
country." 

Mrs.  Percy,  Rosamond,  and  Caroline,  escaped  from 
the  committee  of  dress,  were  now  eagerly  listening  to 
this  conversation. 

"  And  if  you  had,  M.  le  Comte,  T  might,  enphilosopke, 
have  been  permitted  to  ask,"  replied  French  Clay, 
"  what  is  love  of  our  country,  but  a  mere  prejudice  ?  and 
to  a  person  of  an  emancipated  mind,  that  word  prejudice 
says  volumes.  Assuredly  M.  Le  Comte  will  allow,  and 
must  feel  icell,  that  no  prejudice  ever  was  or  can  be 
useful  to  mankind." 

The  count  fully  admitted  that  utility  is  the  best  human 
test  by  which  all  sentiment,  as  well  as  every  thing  else, 
can  be  tried :  but  he  observed  that  Mr.  Clay  had  not  yet 
proved  love  of  our  country  to  be  a  useless  or  pernicious 
principle  of  action  :  and  by  his  own  argument,  if  it  caa 
be  proved  to  be  useful,  it  should  not  be  called,  in  the 
invidious  sense  of  the  word,  a  prejudice. 

"  True — but  the  labour  of  the  proof  fortunately  rests 
with  you,  M.  le  Comte." 

Count  Altenberg  answered  in  French,  speaking  very 
rapidly.  "  It  is  a  labour  saved  me  fortunately,  by  the 
recorded  experience  of  all  history,  by  the  testimony  of 
the  wisest  and  the  best  in  all  countries,  ancient  and 
modern — all  agree  in  proclaiming  love  of  our  country  to 
be  one  of  the  most  powerful,  most  permanent  motives 
to  good  and  great  actions  ;  the  most  expansive,  elevat- 
ing principle — elevating  without  danger — expansive 
without  waste ;  the  principle  to  which  the  legislator 
looks  for  the  preservative  against  corruption  in  states — 
to  which  the  moralist  turns  for  the  antidote  against  sel- 
fishness in  individuals.  Recollect,  name  any  great  char- 
acter, ancient  or  modern — is  not  love  of  his  country  one 
of  his  virtues'?  Can  you  draw — can  you  conceive  a 
great  character — a  great  or  a  good  character,  or  even  a 
F  3 


130  PATRONAGE. 

safe  member  of  society,  without  it  ?  A  man  hangs 
loose  upon  society,  as  your  own  Burke  says — " 

"  Ah !  M.  le  Comte  !"  cried  Clay,  shrinking  with 
affected  horror,  "  I  repent — I  see  what  I  have  brought 
upon  myself:  after  Burke  will  come  Cicero;  and  after 
Cicero  all  Rome,  Carthage,  Athens,  Lacedaemon.  Oh  ! 
spare  me  !  since  I  was  a  schoolboy,  I  could  never  suffer 
those  names.  Ah  !  M.  le  Comte,  de  grace  ! — I  know  I 
have  put  myself  in  the  case  to  be  buried  alive  under  a 
load  of  quotations." 

The  count,  with  that  good-humour  which  disappoints 
ridicule,  smiled,  and  checked  his  enthusiasm. 

"  Is  there  not  a  kind  of  enthusiasm,"  said  Mrs.  Percy, 
"  which  is  as  necessary  to  virtue  as  to  genius  V 

French  Clay  shook  his  head.  He  was  sorry  to  differ 
from  a  lady  ;  as  a  gallant  man  he  knew  he  was  wrong, 
but  as  a  philosopher  he  eould  not  patronise  enthusiasm. 
It  was  the  business  he  apprehended  of  philosophy  to 
correct  and  extinguish  it. 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,"  interposed  Rosamond,  "  that 
it  is  a  favourite  maxim  of  law,  that  the  extreme  of  jus- 
tice is  the  extreme  of  injustice — perhaps  this  maxim 
may  be  applied  to  philosophy  as  well  as  to  law." 

"  Why  extinguish  enthusiasm  V  cried  Caroline.  "  It 
is  not  surely  the  business  of  philosophy  to  extinguish, 
but  to  direct  it.  Does  not  enthusiasm,  well  directed, 
give  life  and  energy  to  all  that  is  good  and  great  ?" 

There  was  so  much  life  and  energy  in  Caroline's 
beautiful  countenance,  that  French  Clay  was  for  a 
moment  silenced  by  admiration. 

"  After  all,"  resumed  he,  "  there  is  one  slight  circum- 
stance, which  persons  of  feeling  should  consider,  that 
the  evils  and  horrors  of  war  are  produced  by  this  very 
principle,  which  some  people  think  so  useful  to  man- 
kind, this  famous  love  of  our  country." 

Count  Altenberg  asked,  whether  wars  had  not  more 
frequently  arisen  from  the  unlawful  fancies  which  princes 
and  conquerers  are  apt  to  take  for  the  territories  of  their 
neighbours,  than  from  the  legitimate  love  of  their  own 
country  ? 

French  Clay,  hurried  by  a  smile  he  saw  on  Rosa- 
mond's lips,  changed  his  ground  again  for  the  worse, 
and  said  he  was  not  speaking  of  wars,  of  foreign  con- 
quests, but  of  defensive  wars,  where  foolish  people,  from 


PATRONAGE.  131 

an  absurd  love  of  their  own  country,  that  is,  of  certain 
barren  mountains,  of  a  few  acres  of  snow,  or  of  collec- 
tions of  old  houses  and  churches,  called  capital  cities, 
will  expose  themselves  to  fire,  flame,  and  famine,  and 
will  stand  to  be  cut  to  pieces  inchmeal,  rather  than  to 
submit  to  a  conqueror,  who  might,  ten  to  one,  be  a  more 
civilized  or  cleverer  sort  of  a  person  than  their  own 
rulers ;  and  under  whom  they  might  enjoy  all  the  luxu- 
ries of  life — changing  only  the  name  of  their  country 
for  some  other  equally  well-sounding  name ;  and  per- 
haps adopting  a  few  new  laws,  instead  of  what  they 
might  have  been  in  the  habit  from  their  childhood  of 
worshipping,  as  a  wittenagemote,  or  a  diet,  or  a  consti- 
tution. "For  my  part,"  concluded  French  Clay,  "I 
have  accustomed  myself  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things. 
I  have  approfondied.  I  have  not  suffered  my  understand- 
ing to  be  paralysed — I  have  made  my  own  analysis  of 
happiness,  and  find  that  your  legislators,  and  moralists, 
and  patriots,  would  juggle  me  out  of  many  solid  physi- 
cal comforts,  by  engaging  me  to  fight  for  enthusiasms 
which  do  me  no  manner  of  good." 

Count  Altenberg's  countenance  had  flushed  with  indig- 
nation, and  cooled  with  contempt,  several  times  during 
Mr.  Clay's  speech.  Beginning  in  a  low  composed  voice, 
he  first  answered,  whatever  pretence  to  reason  it  con- 
tained, in  the  analysis  of  human  happiness,  he  observed, 
Mr.  Clay  had  bounded  his  to  physical  comforts — this  was 
reducing  civilized  man  below  even  the  savage,  and  nearly 
to  the  state  of  brutes.  Did  Mr.  Clay  choose  to  leave 
out  all  intellectual  pleasures — all  the  pleasures  of  self- 
complacency,  self-approbation,  and  sympathy  !  But, 
supposing  that  he  was  content  to  bound  his  happiness, 
inelegant  and  low,  to  such  narrow  limits,  Count  Alten- 
berg  observed,  he  did  not  provide  for  the  security  even 
of  that  poor  portion.  If  he  was  ready  to  give  up  the 
liberty  or  the  free  constitution  of  the  country  in  which 
he  resided,  ready  to  live  under  tyrants  and  tyranny, 
how  could  he  be  secure  for  a  year,  a  day,  even  an  hour 
of  his  epicurean  paradise  1 

Mr.  Clay  acknowledged,  that  "  in  this  point  of  view, 
it  might  be  awkward  to  live  in  a  conquered  country  ; 
but  if  a  man  has  talents  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  the 
powers  that  be,  and  money  in  his  purse,  that  can  never 
touch  him,  chacun  pour  soil — et  honi  soit  qui  mal  ypense." 

"  Is  it  in  England  ! — Oh !  can  it  be  in  England,  and 


132  PATRONAGE. 

from  an  Englishman,  that  I  hear  such  sentiments!" 
exclaimed  Count  Altenberg.  "  Such  I  have  heard  on 
the  Continent — such  we  have  heard  the  precursors  of 
the  ruin,  disgrace,  destruction  of  the  princes  and  nations 
of  Europe !" 

Some  painful  reflections  or  recollections  seemed  to 
absorb  the  count  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Foi  tfhonnele  homme  et  de  philosophe"  French  Clay 
declared,  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  cared  not  who  ruled 
or  how,  who  was  conqueror,  or  what  was  conquered, 
provided  champaign  and  burgundy  were  left  to  him  by 
the  conqueror. 

Rosamond  thought  it  was  a  pity  Mr.  Clay  was  not 
married  to  the  lady  who  said  she  did  not  care  what  revo- 
lutions happened,  so  long  as  she  had  her  roast  chicken, 
and  her  little  game  at  cards. 

"  Happen  what  will,"  continued  French  Clay,  "  I  have 
two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  well  counted — as  to  the 
rest,  it  is  quite  indifferent  to  me,  whether  England  be 
called  England  or  France ;  for,"  concluded  he,  walking 
off  to  the  committee  of  dress,  "  after  all  I  have  heard, 
I  recur  to  my  first  question,  what  is  country,— or,  as 
people  term  it,  their  native  land  ?" 

The  following  lines  came  full  into  Caroline's  recollec- 
tion as  French  Clay  spoke  : 

"  Breathes  there  the  roan  with  soul  BO  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  has  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ? 
Whose  heart  has  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  footsteps  be  hath  turn'd, 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  be,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  fame, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim. 
Despite  these  titles,  power  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  cencentred  all  in  self, 
Living  shall  forfeit  (air  renown, 
And  doubly  dying  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonour'ol,  and  unsung." 

Caroline  asked  Count  Altenberg,  who  seemed  well  ac- 
quainted with  English  literature,  if  he  had  ever  read 
Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  ? 
The  count  smiled,  and  replied, 

"'  Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  has  said,' 

any  of  those  beautiful  lines  ?" 


PATRONAGE.  133 

Caroline,  surprised  that  the  count  knew  so  well  what 
had  passed  in  her  mind,  blushed. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Falconer  returned,  and  throwing 
a  reconnoitring  glance  round  the  room  to  see  how  the 
company  had  disposed  of  themselves,  was  well  pleased 
to  observe  French  Clay  leaning  on  the  back  of  Georgi- 
ana's  chair,  and  giving  her  his  opinion  about  some  arti- 
ficial flowers.  The  ladies  had  been  consulting  upon  the 
manner  in  which  the  characters  in  "  Love  in  a  Village," 
or  "  The  Lord  of  the  Manor,"  should  be  dressed,  and 
Miss  Arabella  Falconer  had  not  yet  completely  deter- 
mined which  piece  or  which  dress  she  preferred.  She 
was  glad  that  the  Percys  had  been  kept  from  this  com- 
mittee, because,  as  they  were  not  to  be  asked  to  the 
entertainment,  it  was  a  subject  she  could  not  discuss 
before  them.  Whenever  they  had  approached  the  table, 
the  young  ladies  had  talked  only  of  fashions  in  general ; 
and  now,  as  Mrs.  Percy  and  Caroline,  followed  by  Count 
Altenberg,  joined  them,  Mrs.  Falconer  put  aside  a  vol- 
ume of  plays,  containing  "The  Lord  of  the  Manor," 
&c. ;  and,  taking  up  another  book,  said  something  about 
the  immortal  bard  to  English  Clay,  who  happened  to  be 
near  her.  He  replied,  "  I  have  every  edition  of  Shaks- 
peare  that  ever  was  printed  or  published,  and  every 
thing  that  ever  was  written  about  him,  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent,  at  Clay-hall.  I  made  this  a  principle,  and  I 
think  every  Englishman  should  do  the  same.  Your  Mr. 
Voltaire,"  added  this  polite  Englishman,  turning  to  Count 
Altenberg,  "  made  a  fine  example  of  himself  by  dashing 
at  our  Shakspeare  V 

"  Undoubtedly,  Voltaire  showed  he  did  not  understand 
Shakspeare,  and  therefore  did  not  do  him  justice,"  replied 
Count  Altenberg.  "  Even  Voltaire  had  some  tinge  of 
national  prejudice,  as  well  as  other  men.  It  was  re- 
served for  women  to  set  us  in  this  instance,  as  in  many 
others,  an  example  at  once  of  superior  candour  and 
superior  talent." 

English  Clay  pulled  up  his  boots,  and  with  a  look 
of  cool  contempt,  said,  "  I  see  you  are  a  lady's  man, 
monsieur." 

Count  Altenberg  replied,  that  if  a  lady's  man  means 
an  admirer  of  the  fair  sex,  he  was  proud  to  feel  that  he 
deserved  that  compliment ;  and  with  much  warmth  he 
pronounced  such  a  panegyric  upon  that  sex,  without 


134  PATRONAGE. 

whom  "  le  commencement  de  la  vie  est  sans  secours,  le  milieu 
sans  plaisir,  et  la  fin  sans  consolation,"  that  even  Lady 
Anne  Arlington  raised  her  head  from  the  hand  on  which 
it  reclined,  and  every  female  eye  turned  upon  him  with 
approbation. 

"  Oh !  what  a  lover  he  will  make,  if  ever  he  is  in 
love,"  cried  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  who  never  scrupled 
saying  any  thing  that  came  into  her  head.  "I  beg 
pardon,  I  believe  I  have  said  something  very  shocking. 
Georgiana,  my  dear,  I  protest  I  was  not  thinking  of — 
But  what  a  disturbance  I  have  made  among  all  your 
faces,  ladies — and  gentlemen"  repeated  her  ladyship, 
looking  archly  at  the  count,  whose  face  at  this  moment 
glowed  manifestly ;  "  and  all  because  gentlemen  and 
ladies  don't  mind  their  grammar  and  their  tenses.  Now 
don't  you  recollect — I  call  upon  Mrs.  Falconer,  who 
really  has  some  presence  of — countenance — I  call  upon 
Mrs.  Falconer  to  witness  that  I  said  if;  and,  pray  com- 
prehend me,  M.  le  comte,  else  I  must  appear  excessively 
rude,  I  did  not  mean  to  say  any  thing  of  the  present  or 
the  past,  but  only  of  the  future." 

The  count,  recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  and 
presence  of  countenance,  turned  to  a  little  Cupid  on  the 
mantel-piece ;  and,  playfully  doing  homage  before  it, 
repeated, 

"  Qui  que  tu  sois  void  ton  maltre, 
II  1'est,  le  fat — on  le  doit  £tre." 

"  Oh !  charming — oh !  for  a  translation !"  cried  Mrs. 
Falconer,  glad  to  turn  the  attention  from  Georgiana : — 
"  Lady  Frances — ladies  some  of  you, — Miss  Percy, 
here's  my  pencil." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  Mr.  Percy's  return 
from  Lord  Oldborough's. 

The  commissioner  followed  Mr.  Percy  into  the  room, 
and  asked,  and  was  answered,  a  variety  of  questions 
about  despatches  from  town  ;  trying,  but  in  vain,  to  find 
out  what  had  been  going  forward.  At  last  he  ended 
with  a  look  of  absence,  and  a  declaration  that  he  was 
quite  happy  to  hear  that  Lord  Oldborough  had  so  com- 
pletely got  rid  of  his  gout. 

"  Completely,"  said  Mr.  Percy ;  "  and  he  desires  me 
to  tell  you  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  him  to  return  to 
town  in  a  few  days." 


PATRONAGE.  135 

*'  In  a  few  days !"  cried  the  commissioner. 

"  In  a  few  days !"  repeated  several  voices,  in  different 
tones. 

"  In  a  few  days  ! — Gracious  heaven  !  and  what 
will  become  of  '  The  Lord  of  the  Manor !' "  cried  Miss 
Falconer. 

"  Gently,  my  Arabella !  never  raise  your  voice  so  high 
— you,  who  are  a  musician,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  and 
so  sweet  a  voice  as  you  have — in  general.  Besides," 
added  she,  drawing  her  apart,  "you  forget  that  you 
should  not  speak  of  '  The  Lord  of  the  Manor'  before  the 
Percys,  as  they  are  not  to  be  asked." 

"  To  be  sure.  Pray  keep  your  temper  Bell,  if  you 
can,  for  a  minute,"  whispered  Miss  Georgiana;  "you 
see  they  have  rung  for  the  carriage." 

Mrs.  Falconer  began  to  entreat  Mrs.  Percy  would  not 
be  in  a  hurry  to  run  away ;  but  to  her  great  joy  the  car- 
riage came  to  the  door. 

At  parting  with  Count  Altenberg,  Mr.  Percy  said  that 
he  regretted  that  they  were  so  soon  to  lose  his  company 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  "  We,  who  live  so  much  re- 
tired, shall  feel  the  loss  particularly." 

The  count,  evidently  agitated,  only  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  We  are  not  parting  yet — we  shall  meet  again— 
I  hope — do  you  ever  go  to  London  T" 

"  Never." 

"  At  all  events,  we  must  meet  again,"  said  the  count. 

The  ladies  had  all  collected  at  the  open  windows,  to 
see  the  departure  of  the  Percys ;  but  Miss  Georgiana 
Falconer  could  learn  nothing  from  the  manner  in  which 
the  count  handed  Caroline  into  the  carriage.  It  did  not 
appear  even  that  he  spoke  to  her. 

On  his  return,  the  Miss  Falconers,  and  the  Lady  Ar- 
lingtons,  were  of  course  talking  of  those  who  had  just 
left  the  house.  There  was  at  first  but  one  voice  in 
praise  of  Caroline's  beauty  and  talents,  elegance,  and 
simplicity  of  manner.  Mrs.  Falconer  set  the  example ; 
Lady  Frances  Arlington  and  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer 
extolled  her  in  the  highest  terms — one  to  provoke,  the 
other  not  to  appear  provoked. 

"  La !"  said  Lady  Frances,  "  how  we  may  mistake 
even  the  people  we  know  best — Georgiana,  can  you  con- 
ceive it  1  I  never  should  have  guessed,  if  you  had  not 
told  me,  that  Miss  Caroline  Percy  was  such  a  favourite 


136  PATRONAGE. 

of  yours.  Do  you  know  now,  so  little  penetration 
have  I,  I  should  have  thought  that  you  rather  disliked 
her?" 

"  You  are  quite  right,  my  dear  Lady  Frances,"  cried 
Mrs.  Falconer;  "I  give  you  credit  for  your  penetra- 
tion :  entre  nous,  Miss  Caroline  Percy  is  no  favourite  of 
Georgiana." 

Georgiana  actually  opened  her  eyes  with  astonish- 
ment, and  thought  her  mother  did  not  know  what  she 
was  saying,  and  that  she  certainly  did  not  perceive  that 
Count  Altenberg  was  in  the  room. 

"  Count  Altenberg,  is  this  the  book  you  are  looking 
for  V  said  the  young  lady,  pronouncing  Count  Alten- 
berg's  name  very  distinctly,  to  put  her  mother  on  her 
guard. 

Mrs.  Falconer  continued  precisely  in  the  same  tone. 
"  Georgiana  does  justice,  I  am  sure,  to  Miss  Percy's 
merit  and  charms ;  but  the  truth  is,  she  does  not  like 
her,  and  Georgiana  has  too  much  frankness  to  conceal 
k ;  and  now  come  here,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  reason." 
In  a  half  whisper,  but  perfectly  intelligible  to  every  one 
in  the  room,  Mrs.  Falconer  went  on : — "  Georgiana's 
favourite  brother,  Buckhurst — did  you  never  hear  it  1 
In  days  of  yore,  there  was  an  attachment, — Buckhurst, 
you  know,  is  very  ardent  in  his  attachments, — despe- 
rately in  love  he  was — and  no  wonder.  But  at  that 
time  he  was  nobody, — he  was  unprovided  for,  and  the 
young  lady  had  a  good  fortune  then — her  father  would 
have  him  go  to  the  bar — against  the  commissioner's 
wishes.  You  know  a  young  man  will  do  any  thing  if 
he  is  in  love,  and  is  encouraged — 1  don't  know  how  the 
thing  went  on,  or  off,  but  Buckhurst  found  himself  dis- 
appointed at  last,  and  was  so  miserable  about  it !  ready 
to  break  his  heart !  you  would  have  pitied  him  !  Geor- 
giana was  so  sorry  for  him,  that  she  never  could  forgive 
the  young  lady, — though  I  really  don't  imagine,  after 
all,  she  was  to  blame.  But  sisters  will  feel  for  their 
brothers." 

Georgiana,  charmed  to  find  this  amiable  mode  of  ac- 
counting for  her  dislike  to  Caroline,  instantly  pursued 
her  mother's  hint,  and  frankly  declared  that  she  never 
could  conceal  either  her  likings  or  dislikings, — that  Miss 
Caroline  Percy  might  have  all  the  merit  upon  earth,  and 
she  did  not  doubt  but  she  had ;  yet  she  never  could  for- 


PATRONAGE.  137 

give  her  for  jilting  Buckhurst, — no,  never!  never!  It 
might  be  unjust,  but  she  owned  that  it  was  a  preposses- 
sion she  could  not  conquer. 

"  Why,  indeed,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  hardly  know 
how  to  blame  you,"  cried  Lady  Trant ;  "  for  certainly 
a  jilt  is  not  a  very  amiable  character." 

"  Oh !  my  dear  Lady  Trant,  don't  use  such  a  word — 
Georgiana ! — Why  will  you  be  so  warm,  so  very  un- 
guarded, where  that  darling  brother  is  concerned? 
You  really — Oh !  my  dear  Lady  Trant,  this  must  not 
go  further — and  positively  the  word  jilt  must  never  be 
used  again  ;  for  I'm  confident  it  is  quite  inapplicable." 

"  I'd  not  swear  for  that,"  cried  Lady  Trant ;  "  for, 
now  I  recollect,  at  Lady  Angelica  Headingham's,  what 
was  it  we  heard,  my  dear  Lady  Kew,  about  her  coquet- 
ting with  that  Mr.  Barclay,  who  is  now  going  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Lady  Mary  Pembroke,  you  know !" 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  did  hear  something,  I  recollect — but,  at 
the  time,  I  never  minded,  because  I  did  not  know,  then, 
who  that  Miss  Caroline  Percy  was — true,  true,  I  recol- 
lect it  now.  And  all,  you  know,  we  heard  about  her 
and  Sir  James  Harcourt — was  there  not  something 
there  T  By  all  accounts,  it  is  plain  she  is  not  the  simple 
country  beauty  she  looks — practised ! — practised  !  you 
see." 

Miss  Georgiana  Falconer's  only  fear  was,  that  Count 
Altenberg  might  not  hear  Lady  Kew,  who  had  lowered 
her  voice  to  the  note  of  mystery.  Mrs.  Falconer,  who 
had  accomplished  her  own  judicious  purpose,  of  ac- 
counting for  Georgiana's  dislike  of  Miss  Caroline  Percy, 
was  now  afraid  that  her  dear  friends  would  overdo  the 
business ;  she  made  many  efforts  to  stop  them,  but  once 
upon  the  scent  of  scandal,  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
change  the  pursuit. 

"  You  seem  to  have  found  something  that  has  caught 
your  attention  delightfully,  Count  Altenberg,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer :  "  how  I  envy  any  one  who  is  completely  in  a 
book — what  is  it  1" 

"  Johnson's  preface  to  Shakspeare." 

Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  was  vexed,  for  she  recol- 
lected that  Miss  Caroline  Percy  had  just  been  speaking 
of  it  with  admiration. 

Mrs.  Falconer  wondered  how  it  could  have  happened 
that  she  had  never  read  it. 


138  PATRONAGE. 

Lady  Kew  persevered  in  her  story.  "  Sir  James  Har- 
court,  I  know,  who  is  the  most  polite  creature  in  the 
whole  world,  and  who  never  speaks  an  ill  word  of  any- 
body, 1  assure  you,  said  of  Miss  Caroline  Percy  in  my 
hearing — what  I  shall  not  repeat.  Only  this  much  I 
must  tell  you,  Mrs.  Falconer — Mrs.  Falconer ! — She 
won't  listen  because  the  young  lady  is  a  relation  of  her 
own — and  we  are  very  rude ;  but  truth  is  truth,  notwith- 
standing, you  know.  Well,  well,  she  may  talk  of  Miss 
Percy's  beauty  and  abilities — very  clever  she  is,  I  don't 
dispute ;  but  this  I  may  say,  that  Mrs.  Falconer  must 
never  praise  her  to  me  for  simplicity  of  character." 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Miss  Georgiana ;  "  one  is  apt  to  sup- 
pose that  a  person  who  has  lived  all  her  life  in  the  coun- 
try must,  of  course,  have  great  simplicity.  But  there  is 
a  simplicity  of  character,  and  a  simplicity  of  manner, 
and  they  don't  always  go  together.  Caroline  Percy's 
manner  is  fascinating,  because,  you  know,  it  is  what 
one  does  not  meet  with  every  day  in  town — that  was 
what  struck  my  poor  brother — that  and  her  great  talents, 
which  can  make  her  whatever  she  pleases  to  be  :  but  I 
am  greatly  afraid  she  is  not  quite  the  ingenuous  person 
she  looks." 

Count  Altenberg  changed  colour,  and  was  putting  down 
his  book  suddenly,  when  Mrs.  Falconer  caught  it,  and 
stopping  him,  asked  how  far  he  had  read. 

While  he  was  turning  over  the  leaves,  Lady  Trant 
went  on,  in  her  turn — "  With  all  her  practice,  or  her 
simplicity,  whichever  it  may  be — far  be  it  from  me  to 
decide  which — I  fancy  she  has  met  with  her  match,  and 
has  been  disappointed  in  her  turn." 

"  Really !"  cried  Georgiana,  eagerly :  "  How  !  what ! 
when ! — Are  you  certain  1" 

"  Last  summer — Oh !  I  have  it  from  those  who  know 
the  gentleman  well.  Only  an  affair  of  the  heart  that  did 
not  end  happily:  but  I  am  told  she  was  very  much  in 
love.  The  family  would  not  hear  of  it — the  mother, 
especially,  was  averse :  so  the  young  gentleman  ended 
by  marrying — exceedingly  well — and  the  young  lady  by 
wearing  the  willow,  you  know,  a  decent  time." 

"  Oh  !  why  did  you  never  tell  me  this  before  ]"  said 
Miss  Georgiana. 

"I  protest  I  never  thought  of  it,  till  Lady  Kew 
brought  it  to  my  recollection,  by  talking  of  Lady  An-* 
gelica  Headingham,  and  Sir  James  Harcourt,  and  all  that , " 


PATRONAGE.  139 

"  But  who  was  the  gentleman  ?" 

"  That's  a  secret,"  replied  Lady  Trant. 

"  A  secret ! — A  secret ! — What  is  it  1  What  is  it?" 
cried  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  pressing  into  the  midst 
of  the  party  ;  for  she  was  the  most  curious  person  im- 
aginable. 

Then  heads  joined,  and  Lady  Trant  whispered,  and 
Frances  exclaimed  aloud,  "  Hungerford  1 — Colonel  Hun- 
gerford !" 

"Fie!  fie!  Lady  Frances,"  cried  Georgiana — and  "fie! 
fie !  you  are  a  pretty  person  to  keep  a  secret,"  cried 
Lady  Trant :  "  I  vow  I'll  never  trust  your  ladyship  with 
a  secret  again — when  you  publish  it  in  this  way." 

"  I  vow  you  will,"  said  Lady  Frances.  "  Why,  you 
all  know,  in  your  hearts,  you  wish  to  publish  it — else 
why  tell  it — especially  to  me  1  But  all  this  time  I  am 
not  thinking  in  the  least  about  the  matter,  nor  was  I 
when  I  said  Hungerford — I  was  and  am  thinking  of  my 
own  affairs.  What  did  I  do  with  the  letter  I  received 
this  morning  ?  I  had  it  here — no,  I  hadn't  it — yes,  I  had 
— Anne  ! — Anne ! — Lady  Anne  !  the  duchess's  letter :  I 
gave  it  to  you  ;  what  did  you  do  with  it  1" 

"  La  1  it  is  somewhere,  I  suppose,"  said  Lady  Anne, 
raising  her  head,  and  giving  a  vague  look  around  the 
room. 

Lady  Frances  made  everyone  search  their  work-boxes, 
writing-boxes,  and  reticules ;  then  went  from  table  to 
table,  opening  and  shutting  all  the  drawers. 

"  Frances ! — If  you  would  not  fly  about  so !  What  can 
it  signify 1"  expostulated  Lady  Anne.  But  in  vain ;  her 
sister  went  on,  moving  every  thing  and  everybody  in 
the  room,  displacing  all  the  cushions  of  all  the  chairs  in 
her  progress,  and,  at  last,  approaching  Lady  Anne's  sofa, 
with  intent  to  invade  her  repose. 

"Ah!  Frances  !"  cried  Lady  Anne,  in  a  deprecating 
tone,  with  a  gesture  of  supplication  and  anguish  in  her 
eyes,  "  do  let  me  rest !" 

"  Never,  till  I  have  the  letter." 

With  the  energy  of  anger  and  despair  Lady  Anne  made 
an  effort  to  reach  the  bell-cord—but  it  missed — the  cord 
swung — Petcalf  ran  to  catch  it,  and  stumbled  over  a  stool 
—English  Clay  stood  still  and  laughed — Freuch  Clay 
exclaimed,  "  Ah !  mon  JDieu !  Cupidon .'" 

Count  Altenberg  saved  Cupid  from  falling,  and  rang 
the  bell. 


140  PATRONAGE. 

",Sir,"  said  Lady  Anne  to  the  footman, "  I  had  a  letter 
— some  time  this  morning,  in  my  hand." 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  I  want  it." 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"Pray,  sir,  tell  somebody  to  tell  Pritchard,  to  tell 
Flora,  to  go  up  stairs  to  my  dressing-room,  sir,  to  look 
everywhere  for't;  and  let  it  be  brought  to  my  sister, 
Lady  Frances,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  No,  no,  sir,  don't  do  any  thing  about  the  matter,  if 
you  please — I  will  go  myself,"  said  Lady  Frances. 

Away  the  lady  ran  up  stairs,  and  down  again,  with 
the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Yes !  exactly  as  I  thought,"  cried  she  ;  "  my  aunt 
does  say,  that  Mrs.  Hungerford  is  to  be  down  to-day — I 
thought  so." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Lady  Anne ;  "  I  never  thought 
about  it." 

"  But,  Anne,  you  must  think  about  it,  for  my  aunt  de- 
sires we  should  go  and  see  her  directly." 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Lady  Anne — "  I've  a  cold — your 
going  will  do." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer,  my  dear  Mrs.  Falconer,  will  you  go 
with  me  to-morrow  to  Hungerford  Castle  ]"  cried  Lady 
Frances,  eagerly. 

"  Impossible !  my  dear  Lady  Frances,  unfortunately 
quite  impossible.  The  Hungerfords  and  we  have  no 
connexion — there  was  an  old  family  quarrel — " 

"  Oh !  never  mind  family  quarrels  and  connexions — 
you  can  go,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  taken  very  well — 
and  you  know  you  only  go  with  me.  Oh !  positively 
you  must — now  there's  my  good  dear  Mrs.  Falconer — 
yes,  and'  order  the  carriage  this  minute  for  to-morrow 
early,"  said  Lady  Frances,  in  a  coaxing,  yet  impatient 
tone. 

Mrs.  Falconer  adhered  to  its  being  absolutely  impos- 
sible. 

"  Then,  Anne,  you  must  go." 

No — Anne  was  impenetrable. 

"  Then  I'll  go  by  myself,"  cried  Lady  Frances,  pet- 
tishly— M  I'll  take  Pritchard  with  me,  in  our  own  car- 
riage, and  I'll  speak  about  it  directly — for  go  I  must  and 
will." 

"  Now,  Frances,  what  new  fancy  is  this  for  Mrs. 
Hungerford?  I  am  sure  you  used  not  to  care  about 
her,"  said  Lady  Anne, 


PATRONAGE.  141 

"And  I  dare  say  1  should  not  care  about  her  now," 
replied  Lady  Frances,  "  but  that  I  am  dying  to  see  an 
•old  pair  of  shoes  she  has." 

"An  old  pair  of  shoes !"  repeated  Lady  Anne,  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  disdain. 

"  An  old  pair  of  shoes !"  cried  Mrs.  Falconer,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  a  pair  of  blue  damask  shoes  as  old  as  Edward 
the  Fourth's  time — with  chains  from  the  toe  to  the 
knee,  you  know — or  do  you  know,  Count  Altenberg  ? 
Miss  Percy  was  describing  them — she  saw  Colonel 
Hungerford  put  them  on — Oh !  he  must  put  them  on 
for  me — I'll  make  him  put  them  on,  chains  and  all,  to- 
morrow." 

"  Colonel  Hungerford  is  on  his  way  to  India  by  this 
time,"  said  Georgiana  Falconer,  dryly. 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Count  Altenberg,  taking  advantage 
of  the  first  pause  in  the  conversation, — "  may  I  ask  if  I 
understand  rightly,  that  Mrs.  Hungerford,  mother  of 
Colonel  Hungerford,  lives  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  is 
coming  into  the  country  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes — just  so,"  said  Lady  Frances. 

What  concern  can  it  be  of  his  ?  thought  Miss  Geor- 
giana Falconer,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  the  count  with 
alarmed  curiosity. 

"  I  knew  Colonel  Hungerford  abroad,"  continued  the 
count,  "  and  have  a  great  regard  for  him." 

Lady  Kew,  Lady  Trant,  and  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer, 
exchanged  looks. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  is  gone  to  India,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, in  a  sentimental  tone ;  "  it  would  have  been  so 
pleasant  to  you  to  have  renewed  an  acquaintance  with 
him  in  England." 

Count  Altenberg  regretted  the  absence  of  his  friend, 
the  colonel ;  but,  turning  to  Lady  Frances,  he  congratu- 
lated himself  upon  having  an  opportunity  of  presenting 
his  letters  of  introduction,  and  paying  his  respects  to 
Mrs.  Hungerford,  of  whom  he  had  heard  much  from 
foreigners  who  had  visited  England,  and  who  had  been 
charmed  with  her,  and  with  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer— his  letters  of  introduction  had  been  addressed  to 
her  town  residence,  but  she  was  not  in  London  when  he 
was  there. 

"  No,  she  was  at  Pembroke,"  said  Lady  Kew. 

I'm  sure  I  wish  she  was  there  still,  thought  Miss 
Georgiana. 


142  PATRONAGE. 

"  But,  after  all,  Lady  Frances,  is  the  duchess  sure  that 
Mrs.  Hungerford  is  actually  come  to  the  country  1 — 
Maybe,  she  is  still  in  town." 

"  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  letting  your  ladyship 
know  ;  for,  if  Lord  Oldborough  will  permit,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly go,  very  soon,  to  pay  my  respects  at  Hungerford 
Castle,"  said  Count  Altenberg. 

The  prescient  jealousy  of  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer 
boded  ill  of  this  visit  to  Hungerford  Castle.  A  few  days 
afterward  a  note  was  received  from  Count  Altenberg, 
returning  many  thanks  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Falconer  for  the 
civilities  he  had  received  from  them,  paying  all  proper 
compliments  to  Zara,  announcing  his  intention  of 
accepting  an  invitation  to  stay  some  time  at  Mrs. 
Hungerford's,  and  taking  a  polite  leave  of  the  Falconer 
family. 

Here  was  a  death-blow  to  all  Georgiana's  hopes  I  But 
we  shall  not  stay  to  describe  her  disappointment,  or  the 
art  of  her  mother  in  concealing  it ;  nor  shall  we  accom- 
pany Mrs.  Falconer  to  town,  to  see  how  her  designs 
upon  the  Clays  or  Petcalf  prospered.  We  must  follow 
Count  Altenberg  to  Hungerford  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  Who  would  prize  the  tainted  posies, 

Which  on  ev'ry  breast  are  worn  ? 

Who  could  pluck  the  spotless  roses 

From  their  never  touched  thorn?" 

THE  feeling  expressed  in  these  lines  will  be  acknow- 
ledged by  every  man  of  sense  and  delicacy.  "  No  such 
man  ever  prized  a  heart  much  hackneyed  in  the  ways 
of  love."  It  was  with  exquisite  pain  that  Count  Alten- 
berg had  heard  all  that  had  been  said  of  Caroline — he 
did  not  give  credit  to  half  the  insinuations — he  despised 
those  who  made  them  :  he  knew  that  some  of  the  ladies 
spoke  from  envy,  others  from  the  mere  love  of  scandal ; 
but  still,  altogether,  an  impression  unfavourable  to  Caro- 
line, or  rather  unfavourable  to  his  passion  for  Caroline, 
was  left  on  his  mind.  The  idea  that  she  had  been  sus- 
pected, the  certainty  that  she  had  been  talked  of,  that 


PATRONAGE.  143 

she  had  even  been  named  as  one  who  had  coquetted  with 
many  admirers, — the  notion  that  she  had  been  in  love — 
passionately  in  love — all  this  took  from  the  freshness, 
the  virgin  modesty,  the  dignity,  the  charm,  with  which 
she  had  appeared  to  his  imagination,  and  without  which 
she  could  not  have  touched  his  heart — a  heart  not  to  be 
easily  won. 

In  his  own  country,  at  the  court  where  he  resided,  in 
the  different  parts  of  the  Continent  which  he  had  visited, 
Germany,  Poland,  Switzerland,  France,  he  had  seen 
women  celebrated  for  beauty  and  for  wit,  many  of  the 
most  polished  manners,  many  of  the  highest  accom- 
plishments, some  of  exquisite  sensibility,  a  few  with 
genuine  simplicity  of  character,  but  in  all  there  had  been 
something  which  had  prevented  his  wishing  to  make  any 
one  of  them  the  companion  of  his  life.  In  some  there 
was  a  want  of  good  temper — in  others  of  good  sense  ; 
there  was  some  false  taste  for  admiration  or  for  noto- 
riety— some  love  of  pleasure,  or  some  love  of  sway,  in- 
consistent with  his  idea  of  the  perfection  of  the  female 
character,  incompatible  with  his  plans  of  life,  and  with 
his  notions  of  love  and  happiness. 

In  England,  where  education,  institutions,  opinion, 
manners,  the  habits  of  society,  and  of  domestic  life, 
happily  combine  to  give  the  just  proportion  of  all  that 
is  attractive,  useful,  ornamental,  and  amiable,  to  the 
female  character — in  England,  Count  Altenberg  had 
hopes  of  finding  a  woman  who,  to  the  noble  simplicity 
of  character  that  was  once  the  charm  of  Switzerland, 
joined  the  polish,  the  elegance,  that  was  once  the  pride 
of  France  ;  a  woman  possessing  an  enlarged,  cultivated, 
embellished  understanding,  capable  of  comprehending 
all  his  views  as  a  politician  and  a  statesman ;  yet  with- 
out any  wish  for  power,  or  love  of  political  intrigue. 
Graced  with  knowledge  and  taste  for  literature  and  sci- 
ence, capable  of  being  extended  to  the  highest  point  of 
excellence,  yet  free  from  all  pedantry,  or  pretension — 
with  wit,  conversational  talents,  and  love  of  good  so- 
ciety, without  that  desire  of  exhibition,  that  devouring 
diseased  appetite  for  admiration,  which  preys  upon  the 
mind  insatiably,  to  its  torture — to  its  destruction ;  with- 
out that  undefinable,  untranslatable  French  love  of  sue- 
ces  de  societe,  which  substitutes  a  precarious,  factitious, 
intoxicated  existence  in  public,  for  the  safe  self-appro- 
bation, the  sober,  the  permanent  happiness  of  domestic 


144  PATRONAGE. 

life.  In  England  Count  Altenberg  hoped  to  find  a  woman 
raised  by  "divine  philosophy"*  far  above  all  illiberal 
prejudice,  but  preserving  a  just  and  becoming  sense  of 
religion ;  unobtrusive,  mild,  and  yet  firm.  Every  thing 
that  he  had  seen  of  Caroline  had  confirmed  his  first 
hope,  and  exalted  his  future  expectation ;  but,  by  what 
he  had  just  heard,  his  imagination  was  checked  in  full 
career,  suddenly,  and  painfully.  His  heavenly  dream 
was  disturbed  by  earthly  voices — voices  of  malignant 
spirits — mysterious — indistinct — yet  alarming.  He  had 
not  conceived  it  possible  that  the  breath  of  blame  could 
approach  such  a  character  as  Caroline's — he  was  struck 
with  surprise,  and  shocked,  on  hearing  her  name  pro- 
faned by  common  scandal,  and  spoken  of  as  the  victim 
of  a  disappointed  passion,  the  scorn  of  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  families  in  England.  Such  were  the  first 
painful  thoughts  and  feelings  of  Count  Altenberg.  At 
the  time  he  heard  the  whispers  which  gave  rise  to  them, 
he  had  been  actually  planning  a  letter  to  his  father,  de- 
claring his  attachment — he  now  resolved  not  to  write. 
But  he  determined  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  truth  or 
falsehood  of  these  reports.  He  was  not  a  man  to  give 
ear  lightly  to  calumny — he  detested  its  baseness ;  he 
would  not  suffer  himself  for  a  moment  to  brood  over 
suspicion,  nor  yet  would  he  allow  himself  for  present 
ease  and  pleasure  to  gloss  over,  without  examination, 
that  which  might  afterward  recur  to  his  mind,  and  might 
create  future  unjust  or  unhappy  jealousy.  Either  the 
object  of  his  hopes  was  worthy  of  him,  or  not — if  not 
worthy,  better  tear  her  from  his  heart  for  ever.  This 
determined  him  to  go  immediately  to  Mrs.  Hungerford's. 
Count  Altenberg  trusted  to  his  own  address  and  penetra- 
tion for  discovering  all  he  wished  to  know,  without 
betraying  any  peculiar  interest  in  the  subject. 

The  first  sight  of  Mrs.  Hungerford,  the  gracious  dig- 
nity of  her  appearance  and  manners,  the  first  five  min- 
utes' conversation  he  had  with  her,  decided  him  in  the 
opinion,  that  common  report  had  done  her  justice ;  and 
raised  in  his  mind  extreme  anxiety  to  know  her  opinion 
of  Caroline.  But,  though  he  began  the  history  of  Zara, 
and  of  the  play  at  Falconer-court,  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  introducing  the  Percys,  in  speaking  of  the  com- 
pany who  had  been  present,  yet,  conscious  of  some  unu- 


PATRONAGE.  145 

sual  emotion  when  he  was  going  to  pronounce  that 
name,  and  fancying  some  meaning  in  Mrs.  Hungerford's 
great  attention  as  he  spoke,  he  mentioned  almost  every 
other  guest,  even  the  most  insignificant,  without  speak- 
ing of  Caroline,  or  of  any  of  her  family.  He  went  back 
to  his  friend  Colonel  Hungerford.  Mrs.  Hungerford 
opened  a  letter-case,  and  took  from  it  the  last  letter  she 
had  received  from  her  son  since  he  left  England,  con- 
taining some  interesting  particulars.- — Towards  the  con- 
clusion of  the  letter,  the  writing  changed  to  a  small 
feminine  hand,  and  all  India  vanished  from  the  view  of 
Count  Altenberg,  for,  as  he  turned  the  page,  he  saw  the 
name  of  Caroline  Percy :  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  stop 
here,"  said  he,  offering  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Hungerford. 
"  No,"  she  replied,  the  whole  letter  was  at  his  service 
— they  were  only  a  few  miles  from  her  daughter  Lady 
Elizabeth. 

These  few  lines  mentioned  Caroline  Percy  among  the 
dear  and  intimate  friends  whom  she  regretted  most  in 
Europe,  and  to  whom  she  sent  a  message  expressive  of 
the  warmest  affection  and  esteem.  A  glow  of  joy  in- 
stantly diffused  itself  over  his  whole  frame.  As  far  as 
related  to  Colonel  Hungerford,  he  was  sure  that  all  he 
had  heard  was  false.  There  was  little  probability  that 
his  wife  should,  if  those  circumstances  were  true,  be 
Caroline's  most  intimate  friend.  Before  these  thoughts 
had  well  arranged  themselves  in  his  head,  a  pleasing, 
sprightly  young  lady  came  into  the  room,  who  he  at  first 
thought  was  Mrs.  Hungerford's  daughter;  but  she  was 
too  young  to  answer  directly  the  description  of  Mrs. 
Mortimer. 

"  Lady  Mary  Pembroke,  my  niece,"  said  Mrs.  Hun- 
gerford. 

Her  ladyship  was  followed  by  Mr.  Barclay — Count 
Altenberg  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  have  all  his  doubts 
satisfied ;  but,  in  the  hurry  of  his  mind,  he  had  almost 
forgotten  to  ask  for  Mrs.  Mortimer. 

"  You  will  not  see  her  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Hungerford ; 
"  she  is  gone  to  see  some  friends,  who  live  at  a  distance 
too  great  for  a  morning  visit.  But  I  hope,"  continued 
Mrs.  Hungerford,  turning  to  Lady  Mary,  "  that  my 
daughter  will  make  me  amends  for  losing  a  day  of  her 
company,  by  bringing  me  our  dear  Caroline  to-morrow." 

"  Is  there  a  chance  of  Caroline's  coming  to  us  1" 
cried  Lady  Mary,  with  affectionate  eagerness. 

VOL.  XV.— G 


146  PATRONAGE. 

"Is  there  any  hope  of  our  seeing  Miss  Caroline 
Percy.  V  said  Mr.  Barclay,  with  an  air  of  respectful 
regard,  very  different  from  what  must  have  been  the 
feelings  of  a  man  who  had  trifled  with  a  woman,  or  who 
had  thought  that  she  had  trifled  with  him. 

Count  Altenberg  rejoiced  that  he  had  come  without  a 
moment's  delay  to  Hungerford  Castle. 

"  You  are  really  a  good  creature,  my  dear,"  continued 
Mrs.  Hungerford  to  Lady  Mary,  "  for  being  so  anxious 
to  have  Caroline  here — many  a  niece  might  be  jealous 
of  my  affection,  for  certainly  I  love  her  as  well  as  if 
she  were  my  own  child.  To-morrow,  sir,"  said  she, 
turning  to  Count  Altenberg,  "  I  hope  I  shall  have  the 

Fleasure  to  introduce  you  to  this  young  friend  of  ours : 
shall  feel  proud  to  show  her  to  a  foreigner,  whom  I 
wish  to  prepossess  in  favour  of  my  countrywomen." 

The  count  said  that  he  had  already  had  the  honour 
of  being  presented  to  Miss  Caroline  Percy — that  he  had 
seen  her  frequently  at  Falconer-court,  and  at  her  own 
home — and  that  he  was  not  surprised  at  the  interest 
which  she  excited  at  Hungerford  Castle.  Count  Alten- 
berg showed  the  interest  she  had  excited  in  his  own 
mind,  while  he  pronounced,  in  the  most  sober  manner 
in  his  power,  those  few  words. 

Mrs.  Hungerford  perceived  it,  nor  had  it  escaped  her 
observation,  that  he  had  forborne  to  mention  the  name 
of  Percy  when  enumerating  the  persons  he  had  met  at 
Falconer-court.  She  was  both  too  well  bred  in  general, 
and  too  discreet  on  Caroline's  account,  to  take  any  no- 
tice of  this  circumstance.  She  passed  immediately  and 
easily  to  a  different  subject  of  conversation. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Mortimer  returned  with  Caroline. 
The  count  saw  the  affection  with  which  she  was  em- 
braced by  Mrs.  Hungerford.  The  family  had  crowded 
to  the  door  of  the  antechamber  to  receive  her,  so  that 
Caroline,  encompassed  with  friends,  could  not  imme- 
diately see  the  count,  and  he  enjoyed  these  moments  so 
exquisitely,  that  the  idea  which  had  previously  engrossed 
all  his  soul,  anxiety  to  see  how  she  would  look  on  meet- 
ing him  thus  unexpectedly,  was  absolutely  forgotten. 
When  the  crowd  opened^  and  Mrs.  Hungerford  led  her 
forward,  a  smile  of  frank  surprise  and  pleasure  appeared 
on  her  countenance  upon  seeing  Count  Altenberg  ;  but 
her  colour  had  been  previously  so  much  raised,  and  so 
much  pleasure  had  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  that  there  was 


PATRONAGE.  14? 

no  judging  what  share  of  emotion  was  to  be  attributed 
to  this  surprise.  He  was,  and  he  had  reason  to  be,  sat- 
isfied with  perceiving,  that  in  the  midst  of  the  first  plea- 
sure of  meeting  intimate  friends,  and  when  she  did  not 
expect  to  meet  any  but  friends,  she  was  not  chilled  by 
the  sight  of  one  who  was,  to  her,  as  yet  but  a  new 
acquaintance. 

After  introducing  Count  Altenberg  to  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
Mrs.  Hungerford  said,  "  Till  I  had  my  daughter  and  all 
my  friends  in  full  force  about  me,  I  prudently  did  not 
make  any  attempt,  Count  Altenberg,  upon  your  liberty ; 
but  now  that  you  see  my  resources,  I  trust  you  will  sur- 
render yourself,  without  difficulty,  my  prisoner,  as  long 
as  we  can  possibly  detain  you  in  this  castle." 

Never  was  man  less  disposed  to  refuse  an  invitation 
than  Count  Altenberg  at  this  moment.  He  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Falconer  immediately  that  farewell  note  which  had 
shocked  Miss  Georgiana  so  much. 

As  Lord  Oldborough  was  preparing  to  return  to  town, 
and  likely  to  be  engrossed  by  ministerial  business,  his 
lordship,  with  less  reluctance,  relinquished  his  company; 
and  the  count,  with  infinite  satisfaction,  found  himself 
established  at  once  upon  a  footing  of  intimacy  at  Hun- 
gerford Castle.  The  letter  he  had  intended  to  write  to 
his  father  was  now  written  and  sent ;  but  it  was  ex- 
pressed in  yet  stronger  terms  than  he  had  originally 
designed — he  concluded  by  conjuring  his  father,  as  he 
valued  the  happiness  of  his  son,  not  to  take  a  step  in 
any  of  the  treaties  of  marriage  that  had  been  planned 
for  him,  and  besought  him  to  write  as  soon  as  it  was 
possible,  to  relieve  his  mind  from  suspense,  and  to  set 
him  at  liberty  to  declare  his  attachment,  if,  upon  further 
acquaintance  with  the  English  lady  who  had  touched  his 
heart,  he  should  feel  any  hope  of  making  such  an  im- 
pression on  her  affections  as  could  induce  her  to  make 
for  him  the  great  sacrifice  of  country,  family,  and  friends. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  hours  and  days  passed  on  most 
happily  at  Hungerford  Castle.  Every  succeeding  day 
discovered  Jo  him  some  new  excellence  in  the  object 
of  his  affection.  Mrs.  Hungerford,  with  judicious,  deli- 
cate kindness,  forbore  all  attempts  to  display  even  those 
qualities  and  talents  in  Caroline  which  she  most  valued, 
certain  that  she  might  safely  leave  them  to  the  discern- 
ment of  her  lover.  That  Count  Altenberg  loved,  Mrs. 
Hungerford  had  too  much  penetration  to  doubt ;  and  it 
G2 


148  PATRONAGE. 

rejoiced  her  heart,  and  satisfied  all  her  hopes,  to  see  a 
prospect  of  her  young  friend  being  united  to  such  a 
man.  Mrs.  Mortimer  felt  as  much  joy  and  as  much 
delicacy  upon  the  subject  as  her  mother  showed. 

In  that  near  examination  in  domestic  life,  so  dan- 
gerous to  many  women  of  the  highest  pretensions, 
Caroline  shone  superior.  His  love,  approved  by  the 
whole  strength  of  his  reason,  and  exalted  by  the  natural 
enthusiasm  of  his  temper,  was  now  at  the  highest. 
His  impatience  was  extreme  for  the  arrival  of  that  an- 
swer to  his  letter,  which  he  hoped  would  set  him  at 
liberty  to  declare  his  passion. 

The  letter  at  last  arrived ;  very  different  were  its  con- 
tents from  what  he  had  hoped.  A  previous  letter  from 
his  father  to  him,  sent  in  a  packet  with  government  de- 
spatches by  Mr.  Cunningham  Falconer,  had  not  reached 
him.  That  letter,  of  which  his  father  now  sent  him  a 
copy,  contained  an  account  of  the  steps  which  had  been 
taken  relative  to  a  treaty  of  marriage  between  his  son 
and  the  Countess  Christina,  a  lady  of  high  birth,  beauty, 
and  talents,  who  had  lately  appeared  for  the  first  time 
at  that  court.  Count  Altenberg's  father  described  the 
countess  as  one  who,  he  was  sure,  must  charm  his  son ; 
and  as  the  alliance  was  eagerly  desired  by  the  lady's 
friends,  and  in  every  respect  honourable  for  his  whole 
family,  the  old  count  was  impatient  to  have  the  affair 
concluded.  Receiving  no  answer  to  this  letter,  and 
pressed  by  circumstances,  he  had  gone  forward  in  his 
son's  name  with  the  treaty,  and  had  pledged  him  so  far 
that  there  was  now,  he  declared,  no  possibility  of  re- 
tracting with  honour.  He  lamented  that  his  son  should, 
in  the  mean  time,  have  taken  a  fancy  to  an  English 
lady ;  but,  as  Count  Albert's  letter  gave  the  assurance 
to  his  family  that  he  would  not  take  any  decisive  step 
till  he  should  receive  an  answer,  nothing  could  have 
been  done  in  England  that  would  commit  his  honour — 
absence  would  soon  efface  a  transient  impression — the 
advantages  of  the  alliance  proposed  in  his  own  country 
would  appear  stronger  the  more  they  should  be  exam- 
ined— the  charms  of  the  Countess  Christina,  with  her 
superior  understanding,  would  have  an  irresistible  ef- 
fect ;  "  and,"  concluded  the  old  count,  "  I  beseech  you, 
my  dear  Albert,  as  your  friend — I  will  say  more — I  com- 
mand you  as  your  father,  return  to  your  own  country  as 
soon  as  you  can  obtain  passports  after  receiving  this 
letter." 


PATRONAGE.  149 

Count  Altenberg  would  have  left  Hungerford  Castle 
immediately,  but  he  had  still  a  lingering  hope  that  his 
last  letter  to  his  father  would  produce  a  change  in  his 
mind,  and  for  an  answer  to  this  he  determined  to  wait ; 
but  a  sudden  change  appeared  in  his  manner :  he  was 
grave  and  absent ;  instead  of  seeking  Caroline's  com- 
pany and  conversation  as  usual,  he  studiously  avoided 
her ;  and  when  he  did  speak  to  her,  his  behaviour  was 
so  cold  and  reserved — so  unlike  his  natural  or  his  for- 
mer manner,  that  the  difference  struck  not  only  Caro- 
line herself,  but  also  Rosamond  and  Mrs.  Percy,  who 
were  at  this  time  at  Hungerford  Castle.  It  happened 
that  on  the  very  day,  and  nearly  at  the  very  hour,  when 
Count  Altenberg  received  this  letter  from  his  father,  of 
which  no  one  knew  any  thing  but  himself,  there  arrived 
at  Hungerford  Castle  another  of  Mrs.  Hungerford's 
nieces,  a  young  lady  of  uncommon  beauty,  and  of  the 
most  attractive  and  elegant  manners,  Lady  Florence 
Pembroke.  She  was  just  returned  from  Italy  with  an 
uncle  who  had  resided  there  for  some  time.  Count 
Altenberg,  from  the  moment  he  was  introduced  to  Lady 
Florence,  devoted  to  her  his  whole  attention — he  sat 
beside  her — whenever  he  conversed,  his  conversation 
was  addressed  to  her  ;  and  the  evident  absence  of  mind 
he  occasionally  betrayed,  and  all  the  change  in  his  man- 
ner seemed  to  have  been  caused  by  her  ladyship's  ap- 
pearance. Some  sage  philosophers  know  little  more 
of  cause  and  effect  than  that  the  one  precedes  the  other; 
no  wonder,  then,  that  Rosamond,  not  famous  for  the 
accuracy  of  her  reasoning,  should,  in  this  instance,  be 
misled  by  appearances.  To  support  her  character  for 
prudence,  she  determined  not  to  seem  to  observe  what 
passed,  and  not  to  mention  her  suspicions  to  her  sister, 
who,  as  she  remarked,  was  sensible  of  the  count's 
altered  manner,  and  who,  as  she  rightly  conjectured, 
did  not  perceive  it  with  indifference.  The  accomplish- 
ments, good  sense,  and  exalted  sentiments  of  Count 
Altenberg,  and  the  marked  attentions  he  had  paid  her, 
had  made  an  unusual  impression  on  the  mind  of  Caro- 
line. He  had  never  declared  his  love,  but  involunta- 
rily it  had  betrayed  itself  on  several  occasions.  In- 
sensibly Caroline  was  thus  led  to  feel  for  him  more 
than  she  dared  to  avow  even  to  herself,  when  the  sudden 
change  in  his  manner  awakened  her  from  this  delight- 
ftil  forgetfulness  of  every  object  that  was  unconnected 


150  PATRONAGE. 

with  her  new  feelings,  and  suddenly  arrested  her  steps 
as  she  seemed  entering  the  paradise  of  love  and  hope. 

At  night,  when  they  were  retiring  to  rest,  and  Caro- 
line and  Rosamond  were  in  their  mother's  room,  Rosa- 
mond, unable  longer  to  keep  her  prudent  silence,  gave 
vent  to  her  indignation  against  Count  Altenberg  in  gen- 
eral reflections  upon  the  fickleness  of  man.  Even  men 
of  the  best  understanding  were,  she  said,  but  children 
of  a  larger  growth — pleased  with  change — preferring 
always  the  newest  to  the  fairest  or  the  best.  Caroline 
did  not  accede  to  these  accusations. 

Rosamond,  astonished  and  provoked,  exclaimed,  "  Is 
it  possible  that  you  are  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that  Count 
Altenberg — "  Rosamond  stopped  short,  for  she  saw 
Caroline's  colour  change.  She  stood  beside  her  mo- 
ther motionless,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 
Rosamond  moved  a  chair  towards  her. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  love,"  said  her  mother,  tenderly 
taking  Caroline's  hand, — "  sit  down  and  compose  your- 
self." 

"  My  dear  mother,  you  required  one,  and  but  one 
promise  from  me — I  gave  it  you,  firmly  intending  to 
keep  it ;  and  yet  I  fear  that  you  will  think  that  I  have 
broken  it.  I  promised  to  tell  you  whenever  I  felt  the 
first  symptom  of  preference  for  any  person.  I  did  not 
know  my  own  mind  till  this  day.  Indeed,  I  thought  I 
felt  nothing  but  what  everybody  else  expressed,  esteem 
and  admiration." 

"  In  common  minds,"  replied  Mrs.  Percy,  "  esteem 
and  admiration  may  be  very  safely  distant  from  love  ; 
but  in  such  a  mind  as  yours,  Caroline,  the  step  from 
perfect  esteem  to  love  is  dangerously  near — scarcely 
perceptible." 

"Why dangerously]"  cried  Rosamond:  "why should 
not  perfect  love  follow  perfect  esteem  1  that  is  the 
very  thing  I  desire  for  Caroline.  I  am  sure  he  is  at- 
tached to  her,  and  he  is  all  we  could  wish  for  her, 
and—" 

"  Stop  !"  cried  Caroline.  "  Oh  !  my  dear  sister !  as 
you  wish  me  to  be  good  and  happy,  name  him  to  me  no 
more — for  it  cannot  be." 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  with  a  look  of  dis- 
may :  "  why  cannot  it  be  1  It  can,  it  must — it  shall  be." 

Caroline,  sighed,  and  turning  from  her  sister,  as  if  she 
dreaded  to  listen  to  her,  she  repeated,  "  No ;  I  will  no* 


PATRONAGE.  151 

flatter  myself — I  see  that  it  cannot  be — I  have  observed 
the  change  in  his  manner.  The  pain  it  gave  me  first 
awakened  me  to  the  state  of  my  own  affections.  I  have 
given  you  some  proof  of  sincerity  by  speaking  thus 
immediately  of  the  impression  made  on  my  mind.  You 
will  acknowledge  the  effort  was  difficult.  Mother,  will 
you  answer  me  one  question — which  1  am  afraid  to 
ask — did  you  or  do  you  think  that  anybody  else  per- 
ceived my  sentiments  by  my  manner  V  Caroline 
paused,  and  her  mother  and  sister  set  her  heart  at  ease 
on  that  point. 

"  After  all,"  said  Rosamond,  addressing  herself  to  her 
mother,  "  1  may  be  mistaken  in  what  I  hinted  about 
Count  Altenberg.  I  own  I  thought  the  change  in  his 
manner  arose  from  Lady  Florence  Pembroke — I  am 
sorry  I  said  any  thing  of  it — I  dare  say  when  he  sees 
more  of  her — she  is  very  pretty,  very  pleasing,  very- 
elegant,  and  amiable,  no  doubt ;  but  surely,  in  compari- 
son with  Caroline — but  I  am  not  certain  that  there  is 
any  rivalship  in  the  case." 

"  I  am  certain  that  there  shall  be  none,"  said  Caroline. 
"  How  extraordinary  it  is  that  the  best,  the  noblest,  the 
most  delightful  feelings  of  the  heart,  may  lead  to  the 
meanest,  the  most  odious  !  I  have,  within  a  few  hours, 
felt  enough  to  be  aware  of  this.  I  will  leave  nothing 
to  chance.  A  woman  should  never  expose  herself  to 
any  hazard.  I  will  preserve  my  peace  of  mind,  my  own 
esteem.  I  will  preserve  my  dear  and  excellent  friends ; 
and  that  I  may  preserve  some  of  them,  I  am  sensible 
that  I  must  now  quit  them." 

Mrs.  Percy  was  going  to  speak,  but  Rosamond  inter- 
posed. 

"  Oh  !  what  have  I  done  !"  exclaimed  she  :  "  impru- 
dent creature  that  I  was,  why  did  I  speak !  why  did  I 
open  your  eyes,  Caroline  ?  I  had  resolved  not  to  say  a 
single  word  of  the  change  I  perceived  in  the  count." 

"  And  did  you  think  I  should  not  perceive  it !"  said 
Caroline.  "  Oh  !  you  little  know  how  quickly — the 
first  look — the  first  tone  of  his  voice — But  of  that  I  will 
think  no  more.  Only  let  me  assure  you,  that  you, 
my  dear  Rosamond,  did  no  harm — it  was  not  what  any- 
body said  that  alarmed  me  :  before  you  pointed  it  out, 
I  had  felt  that  change  in  his  manner  for  which  I  cannot 
account." 


152  PATRONAGE. 

"You  cannot  account1? — Can  you  doubt  that  Lady 
Florence  is  the  cause  ?"  said  Rosamond. 

"  Yes,  I  have  great  doubts,"  said  Caroline 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Mrs.  Percy. 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  said  Caroline,  "  that  a  man  of  his 
sense  and  character  would  be  so  suddenly  captivated  : 
I  do  not  mean  to  detract  from  Lady  Florence's  merits, 
but  before  they  could  make  the  impression  you  suspect 
on  Count  Altenberg  there  must  have  been  time  for  them 
to  be  known  and  appreciated.  Shall  I  go  on,  and  tell 
you  all  that  has  passed  in  my  mind  ?  Yes,  my  mother 
and  sister  should  see  me  as  I  am — perhaps  under  the 
delusion  of  vanity — or  self-love — or — But  if  I  am  wrong, 
you  will  set  me  right — you  will  help  me  to  set  myself 
right :  it  has  never  been  declared  in  words,  therefore 
perhaps  I  am  vain  and  presumptuous  to  believe  or  to 
imagine — yet  I  do  feel  persuaded  that  I  am  preferred — 
that  I  am—" 

"  Loved  !  O  yes  !"  said  Rosamond,  "  a  thousand  times 
I  have  thought  so ;  I  have  felt  certain  that  Count  Alten- 
berg loved  you  :  but  now  I  am  convinced,  alas  !  of  my 
mistake— convinced,  at  least,  that  his  love  is  of  that 
light,  changeable  sort  which  is  not  worth  having — not 
worth  your  having." 

"  That  last,"  cried  Caroline,  "  I  can  never  believe." 
She  stopped,  and  blushed  deeply.  "What  does  my 
mother  say  1"  added  she,  in  a  timid  voice. 

"  My  mother,  I  am  sure,  thought  once  that  he  loved 
Caroline — did  not  you,  mother  ?"  said  Rosamond. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Percy,  "  I  have 
thought  so,  and  I  am  not  yet  convinced  that  we  were 
mistaken  ;  but  I  entirely  agree  with  Caroline,  that  this 
is  a  subject  upon  which  we  ought  not  to  let  our  thoughts 
dwell." 

"  Oh !  so  I  have  thought,  so  I  have  said  on  former 
occasions,  how  often,  how  sincerely !"  said  Caroline. 
"  But  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  felt  it  difficult  to  prac- 
tise what  I  know  to  be  wise  and  right.  Mother,  I  beg 
it  as  a  favour  that  you  will  take  me  away  from  this 
place — this  place,  where  but  yesterday  I  thought  myself 
so  happy !" 

"But  why,  Caroline — why,  mother,  should  she  do 
this  ?"  expostulated  Rosamond.  "  If  she  thinks,  if  you 
think  that  he  loves  her,  if  you  do  not  believe  that  he 


PATRONAGE.  153 

has  changed,  if  you  do  not  believe  that  he  is  struck, 
with  a  new  face,  why  should  Caroline  go  T  For  Heaven's 
sake  do  not  take  her  away  till  you  are  sure  that  it  is 
necessary." 

"  I  will  be  guided  by  her  opinion,"  said  Mrs.  Percy ; 
"  I  can  depend  entirely  on  her  own  prudence." 

"  Indeed,  1  think  it  will  be  most  prudent  that  I  should 
not  indulge  myself  in  staying  longer,"  said  Caroline. 
"  From  what  I  have  seen  of  Count  Altenberg,  we  have 
reason  to  think  that  he  acts  in  general  from  wise  and 
good  motives.  We  should  therefore  believe  that  in  the 
present  instance  his  motives  are  good  and  adequate — I 
cannot  suspect  that  he  acts  from  caprice :  what  the 
nature  of  the  obstacle  may  be  I  can  only  guess ;  but  I. 
am  inclined  to  think  that  some  opposing  duty — " 

"  His  duty,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  suppose  he  must 
have  known  before  to-day.  What  new  duty  can  he 
have  discovered  T  No,  no  ;  men  are  not  so  very  apt  in 
love  matters  to  think  of  opposing  duties  as  women  do- ; 
much  more  likely  that  he  has  heard  something  to  your 
disadvantage,  Caroline,  from  the  Falconers.  I  can  tell 
you  that  Lady  Frances  Arlington  gave  me  a  hint  that 
strange  things  had  been  said,  and  great  pains  taken  to 
misrepresent  you  to  the  count." 

"  If  injurious  representations  have  been  made  of  me 
to  him,"  replied  Caroline,  "  he  will  in  time  discover  the 
falsehood  of  such  reports  ;  or,  if  he  believe  them  with- 
out examination,  he  is  not  what  I  imagine  him  to  be. 
No  ;  I  am  convinced  he  has  too  noble  a  mind,  too  just 
an  understanding,  to  be  misled  by  calumny." 

Mrs.  Percy  declared  she  was  decidedly  of  this  opinion. 
"  The  obstacle,  whatever  it  may  be,  my  dear  mother," 
continued  Caroline,  with  the  earnest  tone  and  expres-. 
sion  of  countenance  of  a  person  of  strong  mind,  at  once 
feeling  and  thinking  deeply,  "  the  difficulty,  whatever  it 
is,  must  be  either  such  as  time  will  obviate  or  increase ; 
the  obstacle  must  be  either  conquerable  or  unconquer- 
able :  if  he  love  me,  as  I  thought  he  did,  if  he  have  the 
energy  of  character  I  think  he  possesses,  he  will  coa- 
quer  it,  if  it  can  be  conquered  ;  if  it  be  unconquerable, 
what  misery,  what  madness,  to  suffer  my  affections  to 
be  irrevocably  engaged  I  or  what  base  vanity  to  wish, 
if  it  were  in  my  power,  to  inspire  him  with  an  unhappy 
passion  !  Then,  in  every  point  of  view,  mother,  surely 
it  is  best  that  I  should  leave  this — dangerous  place," 
G3 


154  PATRONAGE. 

said  Caroline,  smiling.  "  Yet  you  are  both  so  happy 
here,  I  am  sorry  to  be  the  cause." 

"  My  love,"  said  her  mother,  "to  us  all  things  are 
trifles,  compared  with  what  it  is  right  and  becoming 
that  you  should  do.  I  entirely  approve  and  applaud 
your  prudence  and  resolution :  what  you  desire  shall  be 
done  as  soon  as  possible.  We  will  go  home  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  But,  my  dear  ma'am  !  so  suddenly !  consider,"  cried 
Rosamond,  "  how  very  strange  this  will  appear  to  Mrs. 
Hungerford,  and  to  everybody  I" 

"  My  dear  Rosamond,  these  are  some  of  the  small 
difficulties,  the  false  delicacies  which  so  often  prevent 
people  from  doing  what  is  right,  or  what  is  essentially 
necessary  for  the  security  of  the  peace  and  happiness 
of  their  whole  lives,"  said  Mrs.  Percy. 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Rosamond ;  "  and  I  do  not 
object  to  doing  the  thing,  but  I  only  wish  we  had  some 
good,  decent  excuse  for  running  away :  you  don't  ex- 
pect that  Mrs.  Hungerford  will  part  with  you  without 
remonstrance,  without  struggle,  without  even  inquiring, 
why  you  must  run  away  1  I  am  sure  I  hope  she  will 
not  ask  me,  for  I  am  not  prepared  with  an  answer,  and 
my  face  would  never  do,  and  would  give  way  at  the  first 
glance  of  her  penetrating  eye — what  will  you  say  to 
Mrs.  Hungerford  ?" 

"  The  truth,"  replied  Caroline.  "  Mrs.  Hungerford 
has  ever  treated  me  with  so  much  kindness,  has  shown 
me  so  much  affection  and  esteem,  feels  such  a  warm 
interest  in  all  that  concerns  me,  and  is  herself  of  so 
noble  a  character,  that  she  commands  my  entire  confi- 
dence— and  she  shall  have  it  without  reserve.  Since 
my  mother  agrees  with  me  in  thinking  that  Lady  Flor- 
ence has  not  been  in  any  degree  the  cause  of  the  change 
of  manner  we  have  observed,  there  can  be  no  impropriety 
on  that  account  in  our  speaking  of  the  subject  to  Mrs. 
Hungerford.  It  may  be  painful,  humiliating — but  what 
is  meant  by  confidence,  by  openness  towards  our  friends  ? 
— We  are  all  of  us  ready  enough  to  confess  our  virtues." 
said  she,  smiling  ;  "  but  our  weaknesses,  what  humbles 
our  pride  to  acknowledge,  we  are  apt  to  find  some  deli- 
cate reason  for  keeping  secret.  Mother,  if  you  do  not 
disapprove  of  it,  I  wish  you  to  tell  Mrs.  Hungerford  the 
whole  truth." 

Mrs.  Percy  entirely  approved  of  Caroline's  placing 


PATRONAGE.  155 

confidence  in  this  excellent  friend.  She  observed,  that 
this  was  very  different  from  the  girlish  gossiping  sort 
of  confidences,  which  are  made  often  from  one  young 
lady  to  another,  merely  from  the  want  of  something  to 
say,  or  the  pleasure  of  prattling  about  love,  or  the  hope 
of  being  encouraged  by  some  weak  young  friend,  to  in- 
dulge some  foolish  passion. 

The  next  morning,  before  Mrs.  Hungerford  had  left 
her  apartment,  Mrs.  Percy  went  to  her,  and  explained 
the  reasons  which  induced  Caroline  to  refuse  herself 
the  pleasure  of  prolonging  her  visit  at  Hungerford 
Castle. 

Mrs.  Hungerford  was  touched  by  the  confidence  which 
Caroline  placed  in  her.  "  Believe  me,"  said  she,  "  it  is 
not  misplaced — I  feel  all  its  value.  And  must  I  lose  her  ? 
I  never  parted  with  her  without  regret,  and  that  regret 
increases  the  more  I  see  of  her.  I  almost  forget  that 
she  is  not  my  own,  till  I  am  called  upon  to  relinquish 
her :  but  much  as  I  value  her,  much  as  I  enjoy  her 
society,  I  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  to  detain  her 
when  her  peace  of  mind  is  at  stake.  How  few,  how 
very  few  are  there,  of  all  the  various  young  women  I 
know,  who  would  have  the  good  sense  and  resolution, 
I  will  say  it,  the  integrity  of  mind,  to  act  as  she  does  ! 
There  is  usually  some  sentimental  casuistry,  some 
cowardly  fear,  or  lingering  hope,  that  prevents  young 
people  in  these  circumstances  from  doing  the  plain  right 
thing — any  thing  but  the  plain  right  thing  they  are 
ready  to  do — and  there  is  always  some  delicate  reason 
for  not  telling  the  truth,  especially  to  their  friends ;  but 
our  daughters,  Mrs.  Percy,  are  above  these  things." 
With  respect  to  Count  Altenberg,  Mrs.  Hungerford 
said,  that,  from  many  observations  she  had  made,  she 
felt  no  doubt  of  his  being  strongly  attached  to  Caroline. 
"  Their  characters,  their  understandings,  are  suited  to 
each  other ;  they  have  the  same  high  views,  the  same 
magnanimity.  With  one  exception — you  must  allow  a 
mother's  partiality  to  make  an  exception  in  favour  of 
her  own  son — with  one  exception,  Count  Altenberg  is 
the  man  of  all  others  to  whom  I  could  wish  to  see  Caro- 
line united.  I  never  till  yesterday  doubted  that  it  would 
be ;  but  I  was  as  much  struck  with  the  change  in  his 
manner  as  you  have  been.  I  agree  with  Caroline,  that 
some  obstacle,  probably  of  duty,  has  arisen,  and  I  hope 
•r— but  no,  I  will  imitate  her  example,  and  as  you  tell  me 


156  PATRONAGE. 

she  forbids  herself  to  hope,  so  will  I — if  possible.  At 
all  events  she  raises  herself,  high  as  she  was  in  my 
esteem,  still  higher  by  her  present  conduct.  Tell  her 
so,  my  dear  Mrs.  Percy — you,  her  mother,  may  give 
this  praise,  without  hurting  her  delicacy  ;  and  tell  her, 
that,  old  as  I  am,  I  have  not  forgotten  so  completely  the 
feelings  of  my  youth,  as  not  to  be  aware  that  suspense 
in  some  situations  is  the  worst  of  evils.  She  may 
be  assured  that  my  attention  shall  be  as  much  awake  as 
even  her  mother's  could  be — and  when  any  thing  that  I 
think  important  or  decisive  occurs,  she  shall  hear  from 
me  immediately,  or  see  me,  unless  I  should  lose  the  use 
of  my  limbs,  or  my  faculties." 

A  messenger  came  to  summon  Mrs.  Hungerford  to 
breakfast — soon  afterward  a  ride  was  proposed  by  Mrs. 
Mortimer.  Count  Altenberg  was  to  be  one  of  this  party, 
and  he  looked  for  a  moment  surprised  and  disappointed, 
when  he  found  that  Caroline  was  not  going  with 
them  ;  but  he  forbore  to  ask  why  she  did  not  ride,  and 
endeavoured  to  occupy  himself  solely  in  helping  Mrs. 
Mortimer  to  mount  her  horse — Rosamond  was  glad  to 
perceive  that  he  did  not  well  know  what  he  was  doing. 

Before  they  returned  from  their  ride,  the  Percys  were 
on  their  way  to  the  Hills.  Till  this  moment  the  sight 
of  home,  even  after  a  short  absence,  had,  on  returning 
to  it,  always  been  delightful  to  Caroline  ;  but  now,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  every  object  seemed  to  have 
lost  its  brightness.  In  the  stillness  of  retirement,  which 
she  used  to  love,  she  felt  something  sad  and  lifeless. 
The  favourite  glade,  which  formerly  she  thought  the 
very  spot  so  beautifully  described  by  Dryden,  as  the 
scene  of  his  "  Flower  and  the  Leaf,"  even  this  she  found 
had  lost  its  charm.  New  to  love,  Caroline  was  not 
till  now  aware,  that  it  throws  a  radiance  upon  every 
object,  which,  when  passed  away,  seems  to  leave  all 
nature  changed. 

To  banish  recollections  which  she  knew  that  she 
ought  not  to  indulge,  she  employed  herself  unremit- 
tingly. But  her  mind  did  not  turn  with  its  wonted 
energy  to  her  occupations,  nor  was  it  acted  upon  by 
those  small  motives  of  ordinary  life  by  which  it  had 
formerly  been  excited.  When  reading,  her  thoughts 
would  wander  even  from  her  favourite  authors  :  every 
subject  they  discussed  would  remind  her  of  some  con- 
versation that  had  passed  at  Hungerford  Castle  ;  some 
coincidence  or  difference  of  opinion  would  lead  her 


PATRONAGE.  157 

to  digress ;  some  observation  more  just  or  more  strik- 
ing ;  some  better  expression,  or  some  expression  which 
pleased  her  better  than  the  author's  would  occur,  and 
the  book  was  laid  down.  These  digressions  of  fancy 
were  yet  more  frequent  when  she  was  endeavouring  to 
fix  her  attention  to  drawing,  needlework,  or  to  any 
other  sedentary  employment.  Exercise  she  found  useful. 
She  spent  more  time  than  usual  in  planting  and  in  gar- 
dening— a  simple  remedy;  but  practical  philosophy  fre- 
quently finds  those  simple  remedies  the  best  which 
Providence  has  put  within  the  reach  of  all. 

One  morning,  soon  after  her  return  home,  when  she 
was  alone  and  busy  in  her  garden,  she  heard  voices  at 
a  distance  ;  as  they  approached  nearer,  she  thought  she 
distinguished  Mrs.  Hungerford's.  She  listened,  and 
looked  towards  the  path  whence  the  voice  had  come. 
All  was  silent — but  a  minute  afterward,  she  saw  Mrs. 
Hungerford  coming  through  the  narrow  path  in  the 
thicket :  Caroline  at  first  sprang  forward  to  meet  her, 
then  stopped  short,  her  heart  beating  violently — she 
thought  that,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Hungerford  was  accompa- 
nied by  Count  Altenberg ;  but  she  was  alone.  Ashamed 
of  the  hope  which  had  glanced  across  her  mind,  and  of 
the  sudden  stop  which  had  betrayed  her  thoughts,  Caro- 
line now  went  forward,  blushing. 

Mrs.  Hungerford  embraced  her  with  tenderness,  and 
then  assuming  a  cheerful  tone,  "  Your  mother  and 
sister  wanted  to  persuade  me,"  said  she,  "  that  I  should 
never  find  my  way  to  you — but  I  insisted  upon  it  that  I 
could.  Had  I  not  the  instinct  of  a  true  friend  to  guide 
me  ] — So  now  let  me  sit  down  and  rest  myself  on  this 
pretty  seat — a  very  comfortable  throne  ! — and  that  is 
saying  much  for  a  throne.  So,  these  are  your  territo- 
ries V  continued  she,  looking  round,  and  talking  with 
an  air  of  playfulness,  to  give  Caroline  time  to  recover 
herself. 

"  Why  did  you  never  invite  me  to  your  garden  1 — 
Perhaps,  you  think  me  a  mere  fire-side,  arm-chair  old 
woman,  dead  to  all  the  beauties  of  nature ;  but  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  have,  all  my  life,  from  principle,  cul- 
tivated this  taste,  which  I  think  peculiarly  suited  to 
women,  salutary  not  only  to  their  health  but  to  their 
happiness  and  their  virtues — their  domestic  virtues,  in- 
creasing the  interest  they  take  in  their  homes,  height- 
ening those  feelings  of  associated  pleasure  which 


158  PATRONAGE. 

extend  from  persons  to  places,  and  which  are  at  once 
a  proof  of  the  strength  of  early  attachments  and  a  secu- 
rity for  their  continuance  to  the  latest  period  of  life. 
Our  friend,  Count  Altenberg,  was  observing  to  me  the 
other  day  that  we  English-women,  among  our  other 
advantages,  from  our  modes  of  life,  from  our  spending 
so  many  months  of  the  year  in  the  country,  have  more 
opportunity  of  forming  and  indulging  these  tastes  than 
is  usual  among  foreign  ladies  in  the  same  rank  of  life. 
Fortunately  for  us,  we  are  not  like  Mr.  Clay's  French 
countess,  or  duchess,  who  declared  that  she  hated  inno- 
cent pleasures." 

After  mentioning  French  Clay,  Mrs.  Hungerford 
passed  to  a  comparison  between  him  and  Count  Alten- 
berg. She  had  met  Mr.  Clay  in  town,  and  disliked  him. 
"  He  is  an  Englishman  only  by  birth,  and  a  Frenchman 
only  by  affectation ;  Count  Altenberg,  on  the  contrary, 
a  foreigner  by  birth,  has  all  the  tastes  and  principles 
that  make  him  worthy  to  be  an  Englishman.  I  am 
convinced  that,  if  he  had  liberty  of  choice,  he  would 
prefer  residing  in  England  to  living  in  any  country  in 
the  world.  Indeed,  he  expressed  that  sentiment  at  part- 
ing from  us  yesterday." 

"  He  is  gone  then  1"  said  Caroline. 

"  He  is,  my  love." 

Caroline  wished  to  ask  where ;  and  whether  he  was 
gone  for  ever.  Yet  she  continued  silent — and  became 
extremely  pale. 

Mrs.  Hungerford,  without  appearing  to  take  any  notice 
of  her  emotion,  continued,  and  answered  all  the  questions 
which  she  wished  to  ask. 

•"  He  is  gone  back  to  Germany  to  his  own  court — re- 
called, as  he  told  me,  by  some  imperious  duty." 

Caroline  revived. 

"  So  far  you  see,  my  dear,  we  were  right,  as  those 
usually  are  who  judge  from  general  principles.  It  was 
not,  indeed,  to  be  credited,"  continued  Mrs.  Hungerford, 
"  that  a  man  of  his  character  and  understanding  should 
act  merely  from  caprice.  What  the  nature  of  the  duty 
may  be,  whether  relating  to  his  duty  as  a  public  or  a 
private  man,  he  did  not  explain — the  latter  I  fear :  I 
apprehend  some  engagement,  that  will  prevent  his  re- 
turn to  England.  In  this  case  he  has  done  most  hon- 
ourably, at  whatever  risk  or  pain  to  himself,  to  avoid 
any  attempt  to  engage  your  affections,  my  dear ;  and 


PATRONAGE.  159 

you  have  in  these  trying  circumstances,  acted  as  be- 
comes your  sex  and  yourself." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Caroline,  timidly  ;  "  my  mother  and 
Rosamond  endeavoured"  to  reassure  me  on  one  point — 
you  have  seen  more  since,  and  must  therefore  be  bettei 
able  to  judge — Count  Altenberg  has  none  of  that  pre- 
sumption of  manner  which  puts  a  woman  upon  her 
guard  against  his  inferences.  But,  in  secret,  do  you 
think  he  ever  suspected — " 

"  I  cannot,  my  love,  tell  what  passes  in  the  secret 
recesses  of  man's  heart — much  more  difficult  to  pene- 
trate than  woman's,"  replied  Mrs.  Hungerford,  smiling. 
"  But  let  this  satisfy  you — by  no  word,  hint,  or  look, 
could  I  ever  guess  that  he  had  formed  such  a  hope.  Of 
your  whole  family  he  spoke  in  terms  of  the  highest 
regard.  Of  you  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  say  much  ; 
but  the  little  he  did  venture  to  say  was  expressive  of  the 
highest  respect  and  esteem  :  more  he  did  not,  and  ought 
not,  I  am  convinced,  to  have  allowed  himself." 

"  I  am  satisfied — quite  satisfied,"  said  Caroline,  re- 
lieving her  heart  by  a  deep  sigh  ;  "  and  I  thank  you,  my 
kind  Mrs.  Hungerford.  You  have  put  this  subject  at 
rest  for  ever  in  my  mind.  If  Count  Altenberg  can  love 
me  with  honour  he  will :  if  he  cannot,  Heaven  forbid  I 
should  wish  it !" 

From  this  time  forward  Caroline  never  spoke  more 
upon  the  subject,  never  mentioned  the  name  of  Count 
Altenberg.  She  exerted  all  the  strong  command  she  pos- 
sessed over  herself  to  conquer  the  languor  and  indo- 
lence to  which  she  had  found  herself  disposed. 

It  is  a  difficult  task  to  restore  what  may  be  called  the 
tone  of  the  mind,  to  recover  the  power  of  being  acted 
upon  by  common  and  every-day  motives,  after  sensi- 
bility lias  been  unusually  excited.  Where  the  affections 
have  been  deeply  and  long  engaged,  this  is  a  task  which 
the  most  severe  philosophy  cannot  accomplish  without 
the  aid  of  time — and  of  that  superior  power  which  it 
would  be  irreverent  here  to  name. 

By  using  no  concealment  with  her  friends,  by  permit- 
ting no  self-delusion,  by  having  the  courage  to  confess  the 
first  symptom  of  partiality  of  which  she  was  conscious, 
Caroline  put  it  out  of  her  own  power  to  nourish  a  pre- 
ference into  a  passion  which  must  ultimately  have  made 
herself  and  her  friends  unhappy.  Besides  the  advantages 


160  PATRONAGE. 

which  she  derived  from  her  literary  tastes,  and  her  habits 
of  varying  her  occupations,  she  at  this  time  found  great 
resources  in  her  warm  and  affectionate  attachment  to 
her  own  family. 

She  had  never  yet  arrived  at  that  state  of  egoism  which 
marks  the  height  of  passion,  when  all  interests  and 
affections  sink  and  vanish  before  one  exclusive  and 
tyrant  sentiment. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WHEN  Count  Altenberg  went  to  London  to  obtain  his 
passports,  he  went  to  pay  his  parting  respects  to  Lord 
Oldborough,  whose  talents  and  uncommon  character  had 
made  an  indelible  impression  on  his  mind. 

When  he  asked  whether  his  lordship  had  any  com- 
mands that  he  could  execute  at  his  own  court,  he  was 
surprised  by  receiving  at  once  a  commission  of  a  diffi- 
cult and  delicate  nature.  Lord  Oldborough,  whose  pene- 
tration had  seen  into  Count  Altenberg's  character,  and 
who  knew  how  and  when  to  trust,  though  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  most  reserved  of  men,  confided  to  the 
count  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  proceedings  of  Cun- 
ningham Falconer ;  his  suspicions  that  the  envoy  was 
playing  double,  and  endeavouring  to  ingratiate  himself 
abroad  and  at  home  with  a  party  inimical  to  his  lord- 
ship's interests. 

"  Diplomatists  are  all,  more  or  less,  insincere,"  said 
Lord  Oldborough.  "  But  to  have  chosen  an  envoy  who 
joins  ingratitude  to  duplicity  would  reflect  no  credit  upon 
the  minister  by  whom  he  was  appointed.  Were  I  speak- 
ing to  a  common  person,  I  should  not  admit  the  possi- 
bility of  my  having  committed  such  an  error.  But  Count 
Altenberg  will  judge  by  the  whole,  and  not  by  a  part. 
He  knows  that  every  man  in  power  is  sometimes  the 
slave  of  circumstances.  This  Cunningham  Falconer — 
all  these  Falconers  were  forced  upon  me — how,  it  is  of 
little  consequence  to  you  to  hear.  It  is  sufficient  for  me 
to  assure  you,  count,  that  it  was  not  my  judgment  that 
erred.  Now  the  necessity  has  ceased.  By  other  means 


PATRONAGE.  161 

my  purpose  has  been  accomplished.  The  Falconers  are 
useless  to  me.  But  I  will  not  abandon  those  whom  I  have 
undertaken  to  protect,  till  I  have  proof  of  their  perfidy." 

Lord  Oldborough  then  explained  the  points  on  which 
he  desired  to  inform  himself  before  he  should  decide 
with  regard  to  Cunningham.  Count  Altenberg  under- 
took to  procure  for  his  lordship  the  means  of  ascertain- 
ing the  fidelity  of  his  envoy ;  and  Lord  Oldborough  then 
turned  the  conversation  on  general  politics.  He  soon 
perceived  that  the  count  was  not  as  much  interested  in 
these  subjects  as  formerly.  At  parting,  Lord  Oldbo- 
rough smiled,  and  said,  "  You  have  been,  since  I  saw 
you  last,  Count  Altenberg,  too  much  in  the  company  of 
a  philosopher,  who  prefers  the  happiness  of  a  country 
gentleman's  life  to  the  glory  of  a  statesman's  career. 
But  height  will  soon  recall  high  thoughts.  Ambition  is 
not  dead,  only  dormant  within  you.  It  will,  1  hope  and 
trust,  make  you  in  time  the  minister  and  pride  of  your 
country.  In  this  hope  I  bid  you  farewell." 

Commissioner  Falconer  having  been  told  by  one  of  the 
people  in  the  antechamber  that  Count  Altenberg  had 
arrived,  and  was  now  with  the  minister,  waited  anxiously 
to  see  him,  caught  him  in  his  way  out,  and  eagerly 
pressed  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Falconer  to  dine  or 
spend  the  evening  with  them — but  the  count  had  now 
his  passports,  and  pleaded  the  absolute  necessity  for 
his  immediately  setting  out  on  his  return  to  his  own 
country.  The  commissioner,  from  a  word  or  two  that 
he  hazarded  upon  the  subject,  had  the  vexation  to  per- 
ceive that  his  hopes  of  engaging  Count  Altenberg  to 
assist  the  views  of  his  son  Cunningham  were  vain,  and 
he  regretted  that  he  had  wasted  so  much  civility  upon 
a  foreigner  who  would  make  him  no  return. 

Miss  Georgiana  Falconer's  mortification  at  the  count's 
leaving  England  was  much  alleviated  by  finding  that  he 
had  not  been  detained  by  the  charms  of  Miss  Caroline 
Percy,  and  she  was  almost  consoled  for  losing  the  prize 
herself,  by  seeing  that  it  had  not  been  won  by  her  rival. 
Mrs.  Falconer,  too,  though  she  had  long  abandoned  all 
hopes  of  the  count  as  a  son-in-law,  yet  rejoiced  to  be 
spared  the  humiliation  of  writing  to  congratulate  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Percy  upon  the  marriage  and  splendid  estab- 
lishment of  their  daughter. 

"  After  all,  how  ill  they  have  managed,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer :  "  the  game  was  in  their  own  hands.  Certainly 


] 62  PATRONAGE. 

Mrs.  Percy  must  be  the  worst  mother  in  the  world,  and 
the  daughter,  with  all  her  sense,  a  perfect  simpleton,  or 
they  might  have  made  up  the  match  when  they  had  the 
count  to  themselves  at  Hungerford  Castle." 

"  I  told  you  long  ago,  but  you  would  never  believe, 
Mrs.  Falconer,"  cried  the  commissioner,  "that  Count 
Altenberg's  ruling  passion  was  ambition,  and  that  he 
was  not  the  least  likely  to  fall  in  love,  as  you  ladies  call 
it.  The  old  prince  of is  going  fast,  and  Count  Al- 
tenberg's father  has  sent  for  him,  that  he  may  be  on  the 
spot  to  secure  his  favour  with  the  hereditary  prince — I 
am  sure  I  hope  Count  Altenberg  will  not  be  minister ; 
for,  from  the  few  words  he  said  to  me  just  now  when  I 
met  him,  he  will  not  enter  into  my  views  with  regard  to 
Cunningham." 

"  No,  those  political  visions  of  yours,  commissioner, 
seldom  end  in  any  thing  but  disappointment,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "  I  always  said  it  would  be  so." 

Then  followed  a  scene  of  recrimination,  such  as  was 
the  usual  consequence  of  the  failure  of  any  of  the  plans 
of  this  intriguing  pair. 

"  And,  Mrs.  Falconer,"  concluded  the  commissioner, 
"  I  augur  as  ill  of  your  present  scheme  for  Georgiana 
as  I  did  of  the  last.  You  will  find  that  all  your  dinners 
and  concerts  will  be  just  as  much  thrown  away  upon  the 
two  Clays  as  your  balls  and  plays  .were  upon  Count  Al- 
tenberg. And  this  is  the  way,  ma'am,  you  go  on,  plun- 
ging me  deeper  and  deeper  in  debt,"  said  the  commis- 
sioner, walking  about  the  room  much  disturbed.  "  If 
any  thing  was  to  go  wrong  with  Lord  Oldborough,  what 
would  become  of  us  !" 

"  My  dear,  that  is  a  very  unseasonable  apprehen- 
sion ;  for  Lord  Oldborough,  as  1  hear  on  all  sides,  is 
firmer  in  power  now  than  he  ever  was — of  that,  you 
know,  you  were  but  yesterday  giving  me  assurance  and 
proof.  His  favour,  you  know,  is  so  high,  that  all  who 
were  leagued  against  him  in  that  combination  he  detected 
were,  in  consequence  of  his  lordship's  letter,  instantly 
dismissed  from  office  :  his  colleagues  are  now  of  his 
choosing — the  cabinet,  I  understand,  completely  his  own 
friends.  What  more  security  can  you  desire  ]" 

"  You  don't  understand  me,  Mrs.  Falconer :  I  am  not 
thinking  of  the  security  of  Lord  Oldborough's  power—' 
of  that,  after  all  I  have  seen,  I  can  have  no  doubt ;  but 
I  am  not  so  sure  of—" 


PATRONAGE.  163 

"  The  continuance  of  my  own  favour"  he  was  going  to 
say,  but  it  was  painful  to  him  to  utter  the  words,  and  he 
had  a  superstitious  dread,  common  to  courtiers,  of  speak- 
ing of  their  decline  of  favour.  Besides,  he  knew  that 
reproaches  for  want  of  address  in  managing  Lord  Old- 
borough's  humour  would  immediately  follow  from  Mrs. 
Falconer,  if  he  gave  any  hint  of  this  kind  ;  and  on  his 
address  the  commissioner  piqued  himself,  not  without 
reason.  Abruptly  changing  his  tone,  and  taking  that 
air  of  authority  which  every  now  and  then  he  thought 
fit  to  assume,  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Falconer,  there's  one  thing 
I  won't  allow — I  won't  allow  Georgiana  and  you  to  make 
a  fool  of  young  Petcalf." 

"  By  no  means,  my  love  ;  but  if  he  makes  a  fool  of 
himself,  you  know  1" 

"  Mrs.  Falconer,  you  recollect  the  transaction  abont 
the  draught." 

"  For  Zara's  dress  ]" 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  The  condition  you  made  then  in  my 
name  with  Georgiana  I  hold  her  to,  and  I  expect  that 
she  be  prepared  to  be  Mrs.  Petcalf  within  the  year." 

"  I  told  her  so,  my  dear,  and  she  acquiesces — she  sub- 
mits— she  is  ready  to  obey — if  nothing  better  offers." 

"  If — Ay,  there  it  is ! — All  the  time  I  know  you  are 
looking  to  the  Clays ;  and  if  they  fail,  somebody  else 
will  start  up,  whom  you  will  think  a  better  match  than 
Petcalf,  and  all  these  people  are  to  be  feted,  and  so  you 
will  go  on  wasting  my  money  and  your  own  time. 
Petcalf  will  run  restive  at  last,  you  will  lose  him,  and  I 
shall  have  Georgiana  left  upon  my  hands  after  all." 

"  No  danger,  my  dear.  My  principle  is  the  most 
satisfactory  and  secure  imaginable.  To  have  a  number 
of  tickets  in  the  wheel — then,  if  one  comes  up  a  blank, 
still  you  have  a  chance  of  a  prize  in  the  next.  Only 
have  patience,  Mr.  Falconer." 

"  Patience  !  my  dear :  how  can  a  man  have  patience, 
when  he  has  seen  the  same  thing  going  on  for  years  ] 
And  I  have  said  the  same  thing  to  you  over  and  over  a 
hundred  times,  Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  A  hundred  times  at  least,  I  grant,  and  that,  perhaps, 
is  enough  to  try  my  patience,  you'll  allow,  and  yet,  you 
see,  how  reasonable  I  am.  I  have  only  to  repeat  what 
is  incontrovertible,  that  when  a  girl  has  been  brought 
up,  and  has  lived  in  a  certain  line,  you  must  push  her  in 
that  line,  for  she  will  not  do  in  any  other.  You  must 


164  PATRONAGE. 

be  sensible  that  no  mere  country  gentleman  would  ever 
think  of  Georgiana — we  must  push  her  in  the  line  for 
which  she  is  fit — the  fashionable  line." 

"  Push !  Bless  my  soul,  ma'am  !  you  have  been  push- 
ing one  or  other  of  those  girls  ever  since  they  were 
in  their  teens,  but  your  pushing  signifies  nothing. 
The  men,  don't  you  see,  back  as  fast  as  the  women 
advance  ?" 

-  "  Coarse ! — Too  coarse  an  observation  for  you,  com- 
missioner !"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  admirable  temper; 
"  but  when  men  are  angry,  they  will  say  more  than  they 
think." 

"Ma'am,  I  don't  say  half  as  much  as  I  think — ever." 

"Indeed  ! — That  is  a  candid  confession,  for  which  I 
owe  you  credit,  at  all  events." 

"It's  a  foolish  game — it's  a  foolish  game — it's  a 
losing  game,"  continued  the  commissioner ;  "  and  you 
will  play  it  till  we  are  ruined." 

"  Not  a  losing  game  if  it  be  played  with  temper  and 
spirit.  Many  throw  up  the  game  like  cowards,  when,  if 
they  had  but  had  courage  to  double  the  bet,  they  would 
make  their  fortune." 

"  Pshaw !  Pshaw !"  said  the  commissioner  :  "  Can 
you  double  your  girls'  beauty1?  can  you  double  their 
fortune  V 

"  Fashion  stands  in  the  place  both  of  beauty  and  for- 
tune, Mr.  Falconer ;  and  fashion,  my  girls,  I  hope  you 
will  allow,  enjoy." 

"Enjoy!  What  signifies  that1?  Fashion,  you  told 
me,  was  to  win  Count  Altenberg — has  it  won  him  T  Are 
we  one  bit  the  better  for  the  expense  we  were  at  in  all 
those  entertainments  V 

"  All  that,  or  most  of  it — at  least  the  popularity-ball 
— must  be  set  down  to  Lord  Oldborough's  account ;  and 
that  is  your  affair,  commissioner." 

"  And  the  play,  and  the  play-house,  and  the  dresses  ! 
Was  Zara's  dress  my  affair  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you,  you 
were  wasting  your  time  upon  that  man  1" 

"  No  waste,  nothing  has  been  wasted,  my  dear  com- 
missioner ;  believe  me,  even  in  point  of  economy  we 
could  not  have  laid  out  money  better;  for  at  a  trifling 
expense  we  have  obtained  for  Georgiana  the  credit  of 
having  refused  Count  Altenberg.  Lady  Hew  and  Lady 
Trant  have  spread  the  report.  You  know  it  is  not  my 
business  to  speak— «and  now  the  count  is  gone  who  can 


PATRONAGE.  165 

contradict  it  with  any  propriety  1 — The  thing  is  univer- 
sally believed.  Everybody  is  talking  of  it,  and  the  con- 
sequence is,  Georgiana  is  more  in  fashion  now  than 
ever  she  was.  There's  a  proposal  I  had  for  her  this 
morning,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  throwing  a  letter  care- 
lessly before  the  commissioner. 

"  A  proposal !  That  is  something  worth  attending 
to,"  said  the  commissioner,  putting  on  his  spectacles. 

"  No,  nothing  worth  our  attention,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "  only  eighteen  hundred  a  year,  which,  you  know, 
Georgiana  could  not  possibly  live  upon." 

"  Better  than  nothing,  surely,"  said  the  commissioner ; 
"  let  me  see." 

"  Not  better  than  Petcalf,  not  within  a  thousand  a 
year  so  good,  putting  Asia  Minor  out  of  the  question. 
So  you  know,  I  could  not  hesitate  an  instant." 

"  But  I  hope  your  answer  was  very  civil.  People  are 
not  aware  what  dangerous  enemies  they  make  on  these 
occasions,"  said  Mr.  Falconer :  "  I  hope  your  answer 
was  very  polite." 

"  Oh  !  the  pink  of  courtesy,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I 
lamented  that  my  daughter's  fortune  was  so  small  as  to 
put  it  out  of  her  power,  &c.,and  1  added  a  great  deal 
about  merit,  and  the  honour  done  our  family,  and  so  on. 
But  I  wonder  the  man  had  the  assurance  to  propose 
for  Georgiana,  when  he  had  nothing  better  to  say  for 
himself." 

"  Petcalf,  to  be  sure,  if  the  general  dies,  is  a  thousand 
a  year  better.  I  believe  you  are  right  there,"  said  Mr. 
Falconer ;  and  with  an  air  of  calculating  consideration, 
he  took  up  a  pen. 

"  But  what  are  you  about,  commissioner  ?  going  to 
write  on  that  letter,  as  if  it  was  waste  paper  1"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer,  starting  up,  and  taking  it  nastily  from  him : 
"  I  must  have  it  for  Lady  Trant,  Lady  Kew,  and  some 
more  of  our  intimate  friends,  that  they  may  be  able  to 
say  they  have  seen  the  proposal ;  for  mothers,  and  daugh- 
ters too,  in  these  days,  are  so  apt  to  boast,  that  it  is 
quite  necessary  to  have  some  written  document  to  pro- 
duce, and  there's  no  going  beyond  thai." 

"  Certainly — quite  necessary.  And  what  written  doc- 
ument," said  the  commissioner,  smiling,  "  have  you  to 
produce  in  the  case  of  Count  Altenberg  V 

"Oh!  that  is  another  affair,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
smiling  in  her  turn.  "  One  must  not  in  all  cases  have 


166  PATRONAGE. 

recourse  to  the  same  expedients.  Besides,  if  we  pro 
duce  our  proofs  on  one  occasion,  we  shall  depend  upon 
having  our  word  taken  on  trust  another  time ;  and  it 
would  be  too  much  to  make  a  practice  of  showing  gen- 
tlemen's letters :  it  is  not  what  I  should  always  do — 
certainly  not  with  regard  to  a  man  of  Count  Altenberg's 
rank  and  pretensions,  who  merits  to  be  treated  with 
somewhat  more  consideration,  surely,  than  a  man  who 
hazards  such  a  proposal  as  this.  I  merely  produced  it 
to  show  you  that  Georgiana  is  in  no  absolute  distress 
for  admirers.  And  now,  my  dear,  I  must  trouble  you — 
those  public  singers  are  terribly  expensive ;  yet  at  a 
concert  we  must  have  them,  and  one  cannot  have  them 
without  coming  up  to  their  price — I  must  trouble  you  to 
sign  this  draught,  for  our  concert  last  week." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Falconer,  I  have  signed  it,"  cried  the 
commissioner,  "  and  it  is  the  last,  fora  similar  purpose, 
I  ever  will  sign — upon  my  honour." 

"  I  have  invited  everybody  to  a  concert  here  next 
week,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer :  "  What  can  I  do  1" 

"  Do  as  others  do,"  said  the  commissioner ;  "  let 
these  musical  professors  give  a  concert  at  your  house : 
then,  instead  of  paying  them,  you  share  their  profits, 
and  you  have  the  best  company  at  your  house  into  the 
bargain." 

"  Such  things  are  done,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"  and  by  people  of  rank  ;  but  Lady  Jane  Granville  would 
not  do  it,  when  she  was  more  distressed  for  money  than 
we  are,  and  I  know  many  say  it  is  what  they  would 
not  do." 

"  It  must  be  done  by  you,  Mrs.  Falconer,  or  you  must 
give  up  having  concerts  altogether,"  said  the  commis- 
sioner, leaving  the  room. 

To  give  up  concerts  was  quite  impossible,  especially 
as  French  Clay  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  passionately 
fond  of  music,  and  it  was  at  her  musical  parties  that  he 
never  failed  to  attend  assiduously.  The  next  concert 
was  given  by  a  celebrated  performer  at  Mrs.  Falconer's 
house,  and  she  and  the  singers  shared  the  profit.  To 
such  meanness  can  the  slaves  of  fashion  condescend  ! 

At  this  concert  it  happened  that  there  was  a  new  and 
remarkably  handsome,  graceful,  female  Italian  singer, 
who  was  much  admired  by  all  the  gentlemen  present, 
and  particularly  by  French  Clay,  who  had  set  up,  with 
little  ear  and  less  taste,  for  a  great  judge  of  music.  He 


PATRONAGE.  167 

was  ambitious  of  appearing  as  the  patron  of  this  young 
performer.  He  went  about  everywhere  talking  of  her 
in  raptures,  and  making  interest  for  her  with  all  the 
great  people  of  his  acquaintance.  Her  own  voice  and 
her  own  charms  needed  not  the  protection  of  Mr.  Clay; 
from  the  night  she  was  first  produced  at  Mrs.  Falconer's, 
she  became  at  once  the  height  of  the  fashion.  Every- 
body was  eager  to  have  her  at  their  parties,  especially 
as  she  had  never  yet  been  upon  the  stage.  Admirers 
crowded  round  her,  and  among  them  were  many  of  rank 
and  fortune  :  an  old  earl  and  a  young  baronet  were  of 
the  number.  The  ardour  of  competition  so  much  in- 
creased the  zeal  of  French  Clay,  that  what  was  at  first 
only  affectation  became  real  enthusiasm.  He  was  re- 
solved to  win  the  lady  from  all  his  rivals.  He  had  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  seeing  her  at  Mrs.  Falconer's, 
where  he  appeared  always  in  glory  as  her  patron. 

Seraphina,  the  fair  Italian,  considering  Mrs.  Falconer 
as  her  first  patroness,  made  it  a  point  of  gratitude  to 
hold  her  concerts  frequently  at  her  house.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner was  proud  of  the  distinction.  Fresh  eclat  was 
thrown  upon  her  and  upon  her  daughters. 

French  Clay  was  always  near  Miss  Georgiana  Fal- 
coner, or  near  Seraphina ;  and  he  applauded  each  by 
turns  with  all  the  raptures  of  an  amateur.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner saw  that  rivalship  with  the  old  earl  and  the  young 
baronet  had  worked  Mr.  Clay  into  a  passion  for  Sera- 
phina; but  she  thought  she  knew  how  a  passion  for  a 
singer  must  end,  and  as  this  did  not  interfere  with  her 
matrimonial  designs,  it  gave  her  little  inquietude.  Bets 
ran  high  in  the  fashionable  world  upon  the  three  candi- 
dates. Mrs.  Falconer  had  no  doubt  that  the  old  earl 
would  carry  off  the  prize,  as  he  was  extremely  rich,  and 
was  ready  to  make  any  settlement  and  any  establish- 
ment. Her  prophecy  would,  probably,  have  been  ac- 
complished, but  that  French  Clay,  strongly  urged  by  the 
immediate  danger  of  losing  the  lady,  and  flattered  by 
Seraphina's  mother,  who,  in  another  style  of  life,  was 
equal  to  Mrs.  Falconer  in  address  and  knowledge  of  the 
world,  was  drawn  in  to  offer  what  alone  could  balance 
the  charms  of  the  baronet's  youth  and  of  the  earl's 
wealth — a  week  after  the  offer  was  made,  Seraphina 
became  Mrs.  French  Clay.  Upon  this  marriage  Com- 
missioner Falconer  hastened  immediately  to  reproach 
his  wife. 


168  PATRONAGE. 

"  There !  Mrs.  Falconer,  I  told  you  it  would  never  do 
— There  is  another  son-in-law  who  has  escaped  you !" 

Never  did  Mrs.  Falconer's  genius  appear  so  great  as 
in  circumstances  which  would  have  confounded  one  of 
inferior  resource.  It 'is  true  she  had  been  thrown  into 
surprise  and  consternation  by  the  first  news  of  this  mar- 
riage ;  but  by  an  able  stroke  she  had  turned  defeat  to 
victory.  With  a  calm  air  of  triumph  she  replied  to  her 
husband,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Falconer, — French 
Clay  was  only  my  ostensible  object :  I  should  have 
been  very  sorry  to  have  had  him  for  my  son-in-law ; 
for,  though  it  is  a  secret,  I  know  that  he  is  overwhelmed 
with  debt.  The  son-in-law  I  really  wished  for  has  not 
escaped  me,  sir — the  elder  brother,  English  Clay — Clay, 
of  Clay-hall,  I  apprehend,  you  will  allow,  is  rather  a 
better  match  for  your  daughter ;  and  his  proposal  for 
Georgiana,  his  relation,  Lady  Trant,  was  last  night  au- 
thorized to  make  to  me  in  form.  And  now,  commis- 
sioner, there  is  an  end  of  your  fears  that  your  daughter 
should  be  left,  at  last,  upon  your  hands ;  and  now,  I 
flatter  myself,  you  will  acknowledge  that  I  always  knew 
what  I  was  about — mistress  of  Clay-hall,  and  of  seven 
thousand  a  year — I  think  that  is  doing  pretty  well  for  a 
girl  who  has  nothing." 

The  commissioner  was  so  much  delighted,  that  he 
willingly  permitted  his  lady  to  enjoy  her  triumph  over 
him. 

"  Now  only  consider,  commissioner,"  she  pursued, 
"if  I  had  huddled  up  that  match  with  Petcalf!— Pet- 
calf,  I'll  answer  for  it,  in  case  of  necessity,  that  is,  in 
case  of  any  difficulty  on  the  part  of  Sir  Robert  Percy, 
I  can  turn  over  to  Bell.  Poor  Petcalf!"  added  she,  with 
a  smile :  "  I  really  have  a  regard  for  that  everlasting 
partner,  and  wish  to  leave  him  a  chance  of  being  partner 
for  life  to  one  of  my  daughters.  I  am  sure  he  has  rea- 
son to  be  excessively  obliged  to  me  for  thinking  of  him 
at  this  moment — I  must  go  to  Georgiana  and  talk  about 
wedding-clothes,  laces,  jewels,  equipages — Mr.  Clay, 
of  Clay-hall,  piques  himself  upon  having  every  thing 
the  best  of  its  kind,  and  in  the  highest  style — Happy — 
happy  girl !" 

"  Happy — happy  father,  who  has  got  her  off  his 
hands !"  cried  the  commissioner. 

"  'Twas  my  doing — 'twas  all  my  doing !"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer. 


PATRONAGE.  169 

w  It  was,  my  dear ;  and  how  was  it  brought  about  ?" 
said  Mr.  Falconer :  "  stay  one  minute  from  the  wed- 
ding-clothes, and  tell  me." 

Mrs.  Falconer  returned,  and  in  the  pride  of  success- 
ful intrigue  explained  all — that  is,  all  she  chose  that  her 
husband  should  know. 

Lady  Trant  was  Mr.  Clay's  near  relation,  and  Mrs. 
Falconer's  intimate  friend — how  she  had  engaged  her 
ladyship  so  zealously  in  her  cause  was  the  point  which 
Mrs.  Falconer  did  not  choose  to  explain,  and  into  which 
the  commissioner  never  thought  of  inquiring.     There 
are  moments,  in  which  the  most  selfish  may  be  betrayed 
into  a-  belief  that  others  act  from  generous  motives ; 
and  the  very  principles,  which  they  hold  infallible  ap- 
plied to  all  other  cases,  they  think  admit  in  their  own 
of  an  exception :  so  Commissioner  Falconer,  notwith- 
standing his  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  his  knowledge 
of  himself,  took  it  for  granted,  that,  in  this  instance, 
Lady  Trant  acted  from  the  impulse  of  disinterested 
friendship.     This  point  happily  admitted  without  ques- 
tion, all  the  rest  Mrs.  Falconer  could  satisfactorily  ex- 
plain.    Lady  Trant  being  a  friend  she  could  trust  en- 
tirely, Mrs.  Falconer  had  opened  her  mind  to  her  lady- 
ship, and,  by  her  suggestion,  Lady  Trant  had  seized  the 
happy  moment  when  English  Clay  was  enraged  apainst 
his  brother  for  his  strange  marriage,  and  had  deplored 
that  Clay-hall,  and  the  fine  estate  belonging  to  it,  should 
go  to  the  children  of  an  Italian  singer :  English  Clay 
took  fresh  fire  at  this  idea,  and  swore  that,  as  much  as 
he  hated  the  notion  of  a  wife  and  children,  he  had  a 
great  mind  to  marry  on  purpose  to  punish  his  brother, 
and  to  cut  him  off,  as  he  deserved,  for  ever  from  Clay- 
hall.     Lady  Trant  commended  his  spirit,  and  urged  him 
to  put  his  resolution  into  execution — English  Clay,  how- 
ever, balked  a  little  at  this :  women  nowadays,  he  said, 
were  so  cursed  expensive,  that  scarce  any  fortune  could 
suffice  for  a  wife,  and  horses,  and  all  in  style  ;  and  as  to 
taking  a  wife,  who  would  not  be  of  a  piece  with  the  rest 
of  his  establishment,  that  was  what  he  was  not  the  man 
to  do.     Lady  Trant  answered,  that  of  course  he  would 
wish  to  have  a  fashionable  wife  ;  that  was  the  only 
thing  that  was  wanting  to  make  Clay- hall  complete. 

"  But  then  an  establishment  that  was  quite  correct, 
and  in  the   first  style  for  a  bachelor,  would  be  quite 
VOL.  XV.— H 


170  PATRONAGE. 

incorrect  for  a  married  man,  and  every  thing  to  do  over 
again." 

"  True ;  but  then  to  grow  into  an  old  Bachelor,  and 
to  hear  everybody  saying,  or  to  know  that  everybody  is 
saying  behind  your  back,  '  He  will  never  marry,  you 
know ;  and  all  his  estate  will  go  to  his  brother,  or  the 
children  of  Seraphina,  the  singer.' " 

There  are  some  men  who  might  feel  tired  of  having 
the  same  idea  repeated,  and  the  self-same  words  reiter- 
ated ;  but  English  Clay  was  not  of  the  number :  on  the 
contrary,  repetition  was  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  to 
give  his  mind  time  to  take  in  an  idea ;  and  afterward, 
reiteration  was  agreeable,  as  it  impressed  him  with  a 
sense  of  conviction  without  the  trouble  of  thought. 
After  Lady  Trant  had  reiterated  a  sufficient  time,  he 
assented,  and  declared  what  her  ladyship  observed  was 
d — d  true  ;  but  after  a  silence  of  several  minutes,  he 
added,  "  There's  such  a  cursed  deal  of  danger  of  being 
taken  in  by  a  woman,  especially  by  one  of  those  fash- 
ionable girls,  who  are  all  in  the  catch-match  line."  Lady 
Trant,  who  had  been  well  tutored  and  prepared  with 
replies  by  Mrs.  Falconer,  answered  that  as  Mr.  Clay,  of 
Clay-hall,  had  a  fortune  that  entitled  him  to  ask  any 
woman,  so  he  was,  for  the  same  reason,  at  full  liberty 
to  please  himself;  and  though  family  connexion  and 
fashion  would  of  course  be  indispensable  to  him,  yet 
money  could  be  no  object  to  a  man  of  his  fortune,— he 
was  not  like  many  needy  young  men,  obliged  to  sell 
themselves  for  a  wife's  fortune,  to  pay  old  debts :  no, 
Lady  Trant  said,  she  was  sure  her  relation  and  friend, 
Mr.  Clay,  of  Clay-hall,  would  never  bargain  for  a  wife, 
and  of  course,  where  there  was  no  bargaining,  there 
could  be  no  fear  of  being  taken  in. 

English  Clay  had  never  considered  the  matter  in  this 
view  before ;  but  now  it  was  pointed  out,  he  confessed 
it  struck  him  as  very  fair — very  fair ;  and  his  pride,  of 
which  he  had  a  comfortable  portion,  being  now  touched, 
he  asserted  both  his  disinterestedness  and  his  right  to 
judge  and  choose  in  this  business  entirely  for  himself. 
Who  had  a  right  to  blame  him  ?  his  fortune  was  his  own, 
and  he  would  marry  a  girl  without  sixpence,  if  she 
struck  his  fancy.  Lady  Trant  supported  him  in  his 
humour,  and  he  began  to  name  some  of  the  young 
ladies  of  his  acquaintance :  one  would  look  well  in  a 
curricle;  another  would  do  the  honours  of  his  house 


PATRONAGE.  171 

handsomely ;  another  danced  charmingly,  and  would  be 
a  credit  to  him  in  a  ball-room  ;  another  would  make  a 
sweet-tempered  nurse  when  he  should  have  the  gout : 
but  Lady  Trant  found  some  objection  to  every  one  he 
mentioned,  till,  at  last,  when  he  had  named  all  he  could 
think  of  in  remainder  to  his  heart,  Lady  Trant  proposed 
Miss  Georgiana. 

But  she  was  intended  for  his  brother. 
"  Oh!  no."  Lady  Trant  had  very  particular  reasons 
for  being  positive  that  neither  Mrs.  nor  Miss  Falconer 
had  ever  such  an  idea,  however  they  might  have  let  it 
go  abroad,  perhaps,  to  conceal  their  real  wishes, — Miss 
Georgiana  Falconer  had  refused  so  many  gentlemen, — 
Count  Altenberg,  report  said,  among  others ;  and  it  was 
plain  to  Lady  Trant  that  the  young  lady  could  not  be 
easily  pleased, — that  her  affections  were  not  to  be  en- 
gaged very  readily  :  yet  she  had  a  notion,  she  owned, 
that  if — But  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  say  more.  She 
was  only  convinced  that  no  girl  was  more  admired  than 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  and  no  woman  would  do 
greater  credit  to  the  taste  of  a  man  of  fashion :  she 
had  all  the  requisites  Mr.  Clay  had  named :  she  would 
look  well  in  a  curricle ;  she  would  do  the  honours  of 
his  house  charmingly ;  she  sung  and  danced  divinely : 
and  Lady  Trant  summed  up  all  by  reiterating,  that 
Miss  Georgiana  Falconer  never  would  have  married  his 
brother. 

This  persuasive  flattery,  combining  with  English 
Clay's  anger  against  his  brother,  had  such  effect,  that 
he  protested,  if  it  was  not  for  the  trouble  of  the  thing, 
he  did  not  care  if  he  married  next  week.  But  the 
making  the  proposal,  and  all  that,  was  an  awkward, 
troublesome  business,  to  which  he  could  not  bring  him- 
self. Lady  Trant  kindly  offered  to  take  all  trouble  of 
this  sort  off  his  hands, — undertook  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Falconer,  if  she  had  his  authority  for  so  doing,  and 
engaged  that  he  should  be  married  without  any  kind  of 
awkwardness  or  difficulty.  In  consequence  of  this 
assurance,  Lady  Trant  was  empowered  by  Mr.  Clay 
to  make  the  proposal,  which  was  received  with  so 
much  joy  and  triumph  by  Mrs.  Falconer  and  by  her 
Georgiana. 

But  their  joy  and  triumph  were  not  of  long  duration. 
In  this  family,  where  none  of  the  members  of  it  acted 
in  concert,  or  well  knew  what  the  others  were  doing, — 
H  2 


172  PATRONAGE. 

where  each  had  some  separate  interest,  vanity,  or  vice, 
to  be  pursued  or  indulged,  it  often  happened  that  one 
individual  counteracted  the  other,  and  none  were  willing 
to  abandon  their  selfish  purpose,  whether  of  interest  or 
pleasure.  On  the  present  occasion,  by  a  curious  con- 
catenation of  circumstances,  it  happened  that  Buckhurst 
Falconer,  who  had  formerly  been  the  spoiled  darling  of 
his  mother,  was  the  person  whose  interest  immediately 
crossed  hers  ;  and  if  he  pursued  his  object,  it  must  be 
at  the  risk  of  breaking  off  his  sister  Georgiana's  mar- 
riage with  English  Clay.  It  is  necessary  to  go  back  a 
few  steps  to  trace  the  progress  of  Buckhurst  Falconer's 
history.  It  is  a  painful  task  to  recapitulate  and  follow 
the  gradual  deterioration  of  a  disposition  such  as  his  ; 
to  mark  the  ruin  and  degradation  of  a  character  which, 
notwithstanding  its  faults,  had  a  degree  of  generosity 
and  openness,  with  a  sense  of  honour  and  quick  feeling, 
which  early  in  life  promised  well ;  and  which,  but  for 
parental  weakness  and  mistaken  system,  might  have 
been  matured  into  every  thing  good  and  great.  After 
his  mother  had,  by  introducing  him  early  to  fashionable 
company,  and  to  a  life  of  idleness  and  dissipation,  dis- 
gusted him  with  the  profession  of  the  law,  in  which, 
with  talents  such  as  his,  he  might,  with  application  and 
perseverance,  have  risen  to  wealth  and  eminence, — after 
his  father  had,  by  duplicity  and  tyranny,  forced  him  into 
that  sacred  profession  for  which  the  young  man  felt 
himself  unfit,  and  which  his  conscience  long  refused  to 
consider  merely  as  the  means  of  worldly  provision, — 
the  next  step  was  to  send  him  with  a  profligate  patron, 
as  chaplain  to  a  regiment,  notorious  for  gambling.  The 
first  sacrifice  of  principle  made,  his  sense  of  honour, 
duty,  and  virtue,  once  abandoned,  his  natural  sensibility 
only  hastened  his  perversion.  He  had  a  high  idea  of 
the  clerical  character ;  but  his  past  habits  and  his  pres- 
ent duties  were  in  direct  opposition.  Indeed,  in  the 
situation  in  which  he  was  placed,  and  with  the  society 
into  which  he  was  thrown,  it  would  have  required  more 
than  a  common  share  of  civil  courage,  and  all  the  steadi- 
ness of  a  veteran  in  virtue,  to  have  withstood  the  temp- 
tations by  which  he  was  surrounded.  Even  if  he  had 
possessed  sufficient  resolution  to  change  his  former 
habits,  and  to  become  a  good  clergyman,  his  companions 
and  his  patron,  instead  of  respecting,  would  have 
shunned  him  as  a  censor.  Unwilling  to  give  up  the 


PATRONAGE.  173 

pleasures  of  conviviality,  and  incapable  of  sustaining 
the  martyrdom  of  ridicule,  Buckhurst  Falconer  soon 
abjured  all  the  principles  to  which  he  could  not  adhere, 
— he  soon  gloried  in  the  open  defiance  of  every  thing 
that  he  had  once  held  right.  Upon  all  occasions  afraid 
of  being  supposed  to  be  subject  to  any  restraint  as  a 
clergyman,  or  to  be  influenced  by  any  of  the  prejudices 
of  his  profession,  he  strove  continually  to  show  his 
liberality  and  spirit  by  daring,  both  in  words  and  actions, 
beyond  what  others  dared.  He  might  have  been  checked 
and  stopped  in  his  career  of  extravagance  by  the  actual 
want  of  money  and  of  credit,  had  he  not  unluckily  ob- 
tained, at  this  early  period,  a  living,  as  a  reward  for 
saving  Bishop  Clay  from  being  choked  :  this  preferment, 
obtained  in  circumstances  so  ludicrous,  afforded  him 
matter  of  much  temporary  amusement  and  triumph; 
and  confirmed  him  in  the  idea  his  father  had  long 
laboured  to  inculcate,  that  merit  was  unnecessary  to 
rising  in  the  world  or  in  the  church.  But  however  he 
might  endeavour  to  blind  himself  to  the  truth,  and  how- 
ever general  opinion  was  shut  out  from  him  for  a  time 
by  those  profligate  persons  with  whom  he  lived,  yet  he 
could  not  help  now  and  then  seeing  and  feeling  that  he 
had  lost  respectability ;  and  in  the  midst  of  noisy  merri- 
ment he  was  often  to  himself  an  object  of  secret  and 
sad  contempt.  Soon  after  he  was  separated  for  a  time 
from  Colonel  Hauton  and  his  companions,  by  going  to 
take  possession  of  his  living,  he  made  an  effort  to  regain 
his  self-complacency;  he  endeavoured  to  distinguish 
himself  as  an  eloquent  preacher.  Ashamed  of  avowing 
to  his  associates  better  motives,  by  which  he  was  partly 
actuated,  he  protested  that  he  preached  only  for  fame 
and  a  deanery.  His  talents  were  such  as  soon  accom- 
plished half  his  wish,  and  ensured  him  celebrity, — he 
obtained  opportunities  of  preaching  in  a  fashionable 
chapel  in  London, — he  was  prodigiously  followed ;  his 
theatrical  manner,  perhaps,  increased  the  effect  of  his 
eloquence  upon  a  certain  class  of  his  auditors ;  but  the 
more  sober  and  nice-judging  part  of  his  congregation 
objected  to  this  dramatic  art  and  declamatory  style,  as 
tending  to  draw  the  attention  from  the  doctrine  to  the 
preacher,  and  to  obtain  admiration  from  man  more  than 
to  do  honour  to  God.  This,  however,  might  have  passed 
as  a  matter  of  speculative  opinion  or  difference  of  taste ; 
provided  the  preacher  is  believed  to  be  in  earnest,  the 


174  PATRONAGE. 

style  of  his  preaching  is  of  little  comparative  conse- 
quence. But  the  moment  he  is  suspected  of  being 
insincere,  the  moment  it  is  found  that  he  does  not  prac- 
tise what  he  preaches,  his  power  over  the  rational  mind 
ceases ;  and  to  moral  feeling  such  a  clergyman  becomes 
an  object,  not  only  of  contempt,  but  of  disgust  and  ab- 
horrence. Murmurs  were  soon  heard  against  the  private 
conduct  of  the  celebrated  preacher, — perhaps  envy  for 
his  talents  and  success  mingled  her  voice  with  the 
honest  expressions  of  virtuous  indignation.  The  mur- 
murs grew  louder  and  louder;  and  Buckhurst  Falconer, 
to  avoid  having  inquiries  made  and  irregularities  brought 
to  light,  was  obliged  to  yield  to  a  rival  preacher  of  far 
inferior  talents,  but  of  more  correct  conduct. 

Commissioner  Falconer  was  glad  that  his  son  was 
disappointed  in  this  manner,  as  he  thought  it  would 
make  him  more  attentive  than  he  had  been  of  late  to 
Colonel  Hauton ;  and  the  living  of  Chipping-Friars  was 
better  worth  looking  after  than  the  fleeting  fame  of  a 
popular  preacher.  Buckhurst,  however,  still  held  fame 
in  higher  estimation  than  it  had  ever  been  held  by  his 
father,  who  never  valued  it  but  as  subordinate  to  inter- 
est. But  the  love  of  fame,  however  superior  to  mer- 
cenary habits,  affords  no  security  for  the  stability  of 
conduct ;  on  the  contrary,  without  good  sense  and  reso- 
lution, it  infallibly  accelerates  the  degeneracy  of  char- 
acter. Buckhurst's  hopes  of  obtaining  literary  celebrity 
being  lost,  he  sunk  another  step,  and  now  contented 
himself  with  the  kind  of  notoriety  which  can  be  gained 
by  a  man  of  talents,  who  condescends  to  be  the  wit  of 
private  circles  and  of  public  dinners.  Still  he  met  with 
many  competitors  in  this  line.  In  the  metropolis,  the 
mendicants  for  fame,  like  the  professional  beggars,  por- 
tion out  the  town  among  them,  and  whoever  ventures 
to  ply  beyond  his  allotted  walk  is  immediately  jostled 
and  abused ;  and  the  false  pretensions  of  the  wit,  and 
all  the  tricks  to  obtain  admiration,  are  as  sure  to  be  ex- 
posed by  some  rivals  of  the  trade,  as  the  false  legs, 
arms,  and  various  impostures  of  the  beggar,  are  de- 
nounced by  the  brother  beggar,  on  whose  monopoly  he 
has  infringed.  Our  wit  was  soon  compelled  to  confine 
himself  to  his  own  set,  and  gradually  he  degenerated 
from  being  the  wit  to  being  the  good  story-teller  of  the 
company.  A  man  who  lives  by  pleasing  must  become 
whatever  the  society  in  which  he  lives  desire.  Colonel 


PATRONAGE.  175 

Hauton  and  his  associates  had  but  little  taste  for  pure 
wit, — low  humour  and  facetious  stories  were  more 
suited  to  their  capacities, — slang  and  buffoonery  were 
their  delight.  Buckhurst  had  early  become  a  proficient 
in  all  these  :  the  respect  due  to  the  clerical  character 
had  not  restrained  him  from  the  exercise  of  arts  for  his 
own  amusement,  which  now  he  found  indispensably 
requisite  for  the  entertainment  of  others,  and  to  pre- 
serve favour  with  his  patron.  Contrary  to  all  calcula- 
tion, and,  as  the  commissioner  said,  to  all  reasonable 
expectation,  the  old  paralytic  incumbent  had  continued 
to  exist,  and  so  many  years  had  passed  since  the 
promise  had  been  made  to  Buckhurst  of  this  living,  the 
transaction  in  consequence  of  which  it  was  promised 
was  now  so  completely  forgotten,  that  the  commissioner 
feared  that  Colonel  Hauton,  no  longer  under  the  influ- 
ence of  shame,  might  consider  the  promise  as  merely 
gratuitous,  not  binding :  therefore  the  cautious  father 
was  solicitous  that  his  son  should  incessantly  stick  close 
to  the  colonel,  who,  as  it  was  observed,  never  recollected 
his  absent  friends.  Buckhurst,  though  he  knew  him  to 
be  selfish  and  silly,  yet  had  no  suspicion  of  his  breaking 
his  promise,  because  he  piqued  himself  on  being  a  man 
of  honour ;  and  little  as  he  cared,  in  general,  for  any 
one  but  himself,  Colonel  Hauton  had  often  declared  that 
he  could  not  live  without  Buckhurst  Falconer.  He  was 
always  driving  with  the  colonel,  riding,  betting  with 
him,  or  relieving  him  from  the  sense  of  his  own  inability 
by  making  a  jest  of  some  person.  Buckhurst's  talents 
for  mimickry  were  an  infallible  resource.  In  particular 
he  could  mimick  the  two  Clays  to  perfection ;  could 
take  off  the  affected  tone,  foreign  airs,  and  quick  talka- 
tive vanity  of  French  Clay ;  and  represent  the  slow, 
surly  reserve,  supercilious  silence,  and  solemn  self-im- 
portance of  English  Clay.  He  used  to  imitate  not  only 
their  manners,  gesture,  and  voice,  but  could  hold  con- 
versations in  their  characters,  fall  naturally  into  their 
train  of  thinking  and  their  modes  of  expression.  Once 
a  week,  at  least,  the  two  Clays  were  introduced  for  the 
amusement  of  their  friend  Colonel  Hauton,  who,  at  the 
hundredth  representation,  was  as  well  pleased  as  at  the 
first,  and  never  failed  to  "  witness  his  wonder  with  an 
idiot  laugh,"  quite  unconscious  that,  the  moment  after- 
ward, when  he  had  left  the  room,  this  laugh  was  mim- 
icked for  the  entertainment  of  the  remainder  of  the 


I 76  PATRONAGE. 

band  of  friends.  It  happened  one  night  that  Buckhurst 
Falconer,  immediately  after  Colonel  Hauton  had  quitted 
the  party,  began  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar,  by  mimicking 
his  laugh,  snuffling  voice,  and  silly  observations ;  when, 
to  his  utter  confusion,  his  patron,  who  he  thought  had 
left  the  room,  returned  from  behind  a  screen,  and  re- 
sumed his  place  opposite  to  Buckhurst.  Not  Banquo's 
ghost  could  have  struck  more  terror  into  the  heart  of 
the  guilty.  Buckhurst  grew  pale  as  death,  and  sudden 
silence  ensued.  Recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  he 
thought  that  it  was  possible  the  colonel  might  be  such 
a  fool  as  not  to  have  recognised  himself;  so  by  a  wink 
to  one  of  the  company,  and  a  kick  under  the  table  to 
another,  he  endeavoured  to  make  them  join  in  his 
attempt  to  pass  off  the  whole  as  mimickry  of  a  Colonel 
Hallerton.  His  companions  supported  him  as  he  con- 
tinued the  farce,  and  the  laughter  recommenced.  Colo- 
nel Hauton  filled  his  glass,  and  said  nothing;  by  de- 
grees, however,  he  joined  or  pretended  to  join  in  the 
laugh,  and  left  the  company  without  Buckhurst's  being 
able  exactly  to  determine  whether  he  had  duped  him  or 
not.  After  the  colonel  was  fairly  gone, — for  this  time 
Buckhurst  took  care  not  only  to  look  behind  the  screen, 
but  even  to  shut  the  doors  of  the  antechamber,  and  to 
wait  till  he  heard  the  parting  wheels, — they  held  a  con- 
ference upon  the  question — duped  or  not  duped  1  All 
agreed  in  flattering  Buckhurst  that  he  had  completely 
succeeded  in  giving  the  colonel  the  change,  and  he  was 
particularly  complimented  on  his  address  by  a  Mr. 
Sloak,  chaplain  to  a  nobleman,  who  was  one  of  the 
company.  There  was  something  of  a  hypocritical  tone 
in  Sloak's  voice, — something  of  a  doubtful  cast  in  his 
eyes,  which,  for  a  moment,  raised  in  Buckhurst's  mind 
a  suspicion  of  him.  But,  the  next  day,  Colonel  Hauton 
appeared  as  usual ;  Buckhurst  rode,  drove,  and  jested 
with  him  as  before ;  and  the  whole  transaction  was,  on 
his  part,  forgotten.  A  month  afterward  the  rector  of 
Chipping-Friars  actually  died, — Commissioner  Falconer 
despatched  an  express  to  Buckhurst,  who  stood  beside 
his  bed,  with  the  news,  the  instant  he  opened  his  eyes 
in  the  morning.  Buckhurst  sent  the  messenger  on  to 
Colonel  Hauton's  at  the  barracks,  and  before  Buckhurst 
was  dressed  the  colonel's  groom  brought  him  an  invi- 
tation to  meet  a  large  party  at  dinner:  "the  colonel 


PATRONAGE.  177 

would  be  unavoidably  engaged,  by  regimental  business, 
all  morning." 

Buckhurst's  friends  and  acquaintance  now  flocked  to 
congratulate  him,  and,  by  dinner-time,  he  had,  in  imagi- 
nation, disposed  of  the  second  year's  tithes,  and  looked 
out  for  a  curate  to  do  the  duty  of  Chipping- Friars.  The 
company  assembled  at  dinner,  and  the  colonel  seemed 
in  uncommonly  good  spirits,  Buckhurst  jovial  and  tri- 
umphant— nothing  was  said  of  the  living,  but  every  thing 
was  taken  for  granted.  In  the  middle  of  dinner  the 
colonel  cried  "  Come,  gentlemen,  fill  your  glasses,  and 
drink  with  me  to  the  health  of  the  new  rector  of  Chip- 
ping-Friars."  The  glasses  were  filled  instantly,  all  but 
Buckhurst  Falconer's,  who,  of  course,  thought  he  should 
not  drink  his  own  health. 

"  Mr.  Sloak,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  drink  your  health ; 
Mr.  Sloak,  rector  of  Chipping-Friars,"  cried  the  patron, 
raising  his  voice.  "  Buckhurst,"  added  he,  with  a  mali- 
cious smile,  "  you  do  not  fill  your  glass." 

Buckhurst  sat  aghast.     "  Colonel,  is  this  a  jest  V 

"  A  jest  i — by  G —  !  no,"  said  the  colonel ;  "  I  have 
had  enough  of  jests  and  jesters." 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?" 

"  It  means,"  said  the  colonel,  coolly,  "  that  idiot  as 
you  take  me,  or  make  me  to  be,  I'm  not  fool  enough  to 
patronise  a  mimick  to  mimick  myself;  and,  moreover, 
I  have  the  good  of  the  church  too  much  at  heart,  to 
make  a  rector  of  one  who  has  no  rectitude — I  can  have 
my  pun,  too." 

The  laugh  was  instantly  turned  against  Buckhurst, 
Starting  from  table,  he  looked  alternately  at  Colonel 
Hauton  and  at  Mr.  Sloak,  and  could  scarcely  find  words 
to  express  his  rage. 

"  Hypocrisy !  Treachery !  Ingratitude !  Cowardice ! 
If  my  cloth  did  not  protect  you,  you  would  not  dare — 
Oh !  that  I  was  not  a  clergyman !"  cried  Buckhurst. 

"  It's  a  good  time  to  wish  it,  faith  !"  said  the  colonel ; 
"  but  you  should  have  thought  better  before  you  put  on 
the  cloth." 

Cursing  himself,  his  patron,  and  his  father,  Buckhurst 
struck  hrs  forehead,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room :  an  in- 
sulting laugh  followed  from  Colonel  Hauton,  in  which 
Mr.  Sloak  and  all  the  company  joined — Buckhurst  heard 
it  with  feelings  of  powerless  desperation.  He  walked 
as  fast  as  possible — he  almost  ran  through  the  barrack  • 
HI 


178  PATRONAGE. 

yard  and  through  the  streets  of  the  town,  to  get  as  far 
as  he  could  from  this  scene — from  these  people.  He 
found  himself  in  the  open  fields,  and  leaning  against  a 
tree — his  heart  almost  bursting — for  still  he  had  a  heart : 
"  Oh !  Mr.  Percy !"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  "  once  I  had 
a  friend — a  good,  generous  friend — and  I  left  him  for 
such  a  wretch  as  this  !  Oh !  if  I  had  followed  his  ad- 
vice !  He  knew  me — knew  my  better  self!  And  if  he 
could  see  me  at  this  moment,  he  would  pity  me.  Oh ! 
Caroline  !  you  would  pity — no,  you  would  despise  me, 
as  I  despise  myself — I  a  clergyman! — Oh!  father!  father! 
what  have  you  to  answer  for  1" 

To  this  sudden  pang  of  conscience  and  feeling  suc- 
ceeded the  idea  of  the  reproaches  which  his  father 
would  pour  upon  him — the  recollection  of  his  debts,  and 
the  impossibility  of  paying  them — his  destitute,  hope- 
less condition — anger  against  the  new  rector  of  Chip- 
ping-Friars,  and  against  his  cold,  malicious  patron,  re- 
turned with  increased  force  upon  his  mind.  The  re- 
mainder of  that  day,  and  the  whole  of  the  night,  were 
passed  in  these  fluctuations  of  passion.  Whenever 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  began  to  doze,  he  heard  the  voice 
of  Colonel  Hauton  drinking  the  health  of  Mr.  Sloak ;  and 
twice  he  started  from  his  sleep,  after  having  collared 
both  the  rector  and  his  patron.  The  day  brought  him 
no  relief:  the  moment  his  creditors  heard  the  facts,  he 
knew  he  should  be  in  immediate  danger  of  arrest.  He 
hurried  to  town  to  his  father — his  father  must  know 
his  situation  sooner  or  later,  and  something  must  be 
done. 

We  spare  the  reader  a  shocking  scene  of  filial  and 
parental  reproaches. 

They  were  both,  at  last,  compelled  to  return  to  the 
question,  What  is  to  be  done  1  The  father  declared  his 
utter  inability  to  pay  his  son's  debts,  and  told  him,  that 
now  there  remained  but  one  way  of  extricating  himself 
from  his  difficulties — to  turn  to  a  better  patron. 

"  Oh !  sir,  I  have  done  with  patrons,"  cried  Buckhurst. 

"  What,  then,  will  you  do,  sir  ?  Live  in  a  jail  the  re- 
mainder of  your  life  ?'-' 

Buckhurst  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and,  after  a  pause,  said, 
"  Well,  sir — go  on — Who  is  to  be  my  new  patron  1" 

"  Your  old  friend,  Bishop  Clay." 

"  I  have  no  claim  upon  him.  He  has  done  much  for 
me  already." 


PATRONAGE  179 

"  Therefore  he  will  do  more." 

"  Not  pay  my  debts — and  that  is  the  pressing  difficulty. 
He  cannot  extricate  me,  unless  he  could  give  me  a  good 
living  immediately,  and  he  has  none  better  than  the  one 
I  have  already,  except  Dr.  Leicester's — his  deanery,  you 
know,  is  in  the  gift  of  the  crown.  Besides,  the  good 
dean  is  likely  to  live  as  long  as  I  shall." 

"  Stay  ;  you  do  not  yet,  quick  sir,  see  my  scheme — a 
scheme  which  would  pay  your  debts  and  put  you  at  ease 
at  once — Miss  Tarnmy  Clay,  the  bishop's  sister." 

"  An  old,  ugly,  cross,  avaricious  devil !"  cried  Buck- 
hurst. 

"  Rich  !  passing  rich !  and  well  inclined  towards  you, 
Buckhurst,  as  you  know." 

Buckhurst  said  that  she  was  his  abhorrence — that 
the  idea  of  a  man's  selling  himself  in  marriage  was 
so  repugnant  to  his  feelings,  that  he  would  rather  die  in 
a  jail. 

His  father  let  him  exhaust  himself  in  declamation, 
certain  that  he  would  be  brought  to  think  of  it  at  last, 
by  the  necessity  to  which  he  was  reduced.  The  result 
was,  what  the  commissioner  saw  it  must  be — creditors 
pressed — a  jail  in  immediate  view — no  resource  but  Miss 
Tammy  Clay.  He  went  down  to  the  country  to  the 
bishop's,  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  his  creditors,  and — to 
consider  about  it.  He  found  no  difficulty  likely  to  arise 
on  the  part  of  the  lady.  The  bishop  old,  and  almost 
doting,  governed  by  his  sister  Tammy,  who  was  an 
admirable  housekeeper,  and  kept  his  table  exquisitely, 
was  brought,  though  very  reluctantly,  to  consent  to 
their  marriage. 

Not  so  acquiescent,  however,  were  Miss  Tammy's 
two  nephews,  French  and  English  Clay.  They  had 
looked  upon  her  wealth  as  their  indefeasible  right  and 
property.  The  possibility  of  her  marrying  had  for  years 
been,  as  they  thought,  out  of  the  question  ;  and  of  all  the 
young  men  of  their  acquaintance,  Buckhurst  Falconer 
was  the  very  last  whom  they  would  have  suspected  to 
have  any  design  upon  aunt  Tammy — she  had  long  and 
often  been  the  subject  of  his  ridicule.  French  Clay, 
though  he  had  just  made  an  imprudent  match  with  a 
singer,  was  the  more  loud  and  violent  against  the  aunt ; 
and  English  Clay,  though  he  was  not  in  want  of  her 
money,  was  roused  by  the  idea  of  being  duped  by  the 
Falconers.  This  was  just  at  the  time  he  had  commis- 


180  PATRONAGE. 

sioned  Lady  Trant  to  propose  for  Miss  Georgiana.  Aunt 
Tammy  had  promised  to  give  him  six  thousand  pounds 
whenever  he  should  marry :  he  did  not  value  her  money 
a  single  sixpence,  but  he  would  not  be  tricked  out  of 
his  rights  by  any  man  or  woman  breathing.  Aunt  Tam- 
my, resenting  certain  words  that  had  escaped  him  de- 
rogatory to  her  youth  and  beauty,  and  being  naturally 
unwilling  to  give — any  thing  but  herself — refused  to  part 
with  the  six  thousand  pounds.  In  these  hard  times,  and 
when  she  was  going  to  marry  an  expensive  husband,  she 
laughing  said,  that  all  she  had  would  be  little  enough  for 
her  own  establishment.  Buckhurst  would  willingly  have 
given  up  the  sum  in  question,  but  English  Clay  would 
not  receive  it  as  a  consequence  of  his  intercession.  His 
pride  offended  Buckhurst :  they  came  to  high  words,  and 
high  silence.  English  Clay  went  to  his  relation,  Lady 
Trant,  and  first  reproaching  her  with  having  been  too 
precipitate  in  executing  his  first  commission,  gave  her  a 
second,  in  which  he  begged  she  would  make  no  delay : 
he  requested  her  ladyship  would  inform  Mrs.  Falconer 
that  a  double  alliance  with  her  family  was  more  than  he 
had  looked  for — and  in  one  word,  that  either  her  son 
Buckhurst's  marriage  with  his  aunt  TSmmy,  or  his  own 
marriage  with  Miss  Georgiana,  must  be  given  up.  He 
would  not  have  his  aunt  at  her  age  make  herself  ridicu- 
lous, and  he  would  not  connect  himself  with  a  family 
who  could  uphold  a  young  man  in  duping  an  old  woman : 
Lady  Trant  might  shape  his  message  as  she  pleased,  but 
this  was  to  be  its  substance. 

In  consequence  of  Lady  Trant's  intimation,  which  of 
course  was  made  with  aU  possible  delicacy,  Georgiana 
and  Mrs.  Falconer  wrote  to  Buckhurst  in  the  strongest 
terms,  urging  him  to  give  up  his  intended  marriage. 
There  were,  as  they  forcibly  represented,  so  many  other 
old  women  with  large  fortunes  who  could  in  the  course 
of  a  short  time  be  found,  who  would  be  quite  as  good 
matches  for  him,  that  it  would  argue  a  total  insensibility 
to  the  interests  and  entreaties  of  his  beloved  mother  and 
sister,  if  he  persisted  in  his  present  preposterous  design. 
Buckhurst  answered, 

"  MY  DEAR  MOTHER  AND  GEORGY, 
"  I  was  married  yesterday,  and  am  as  sorry  for  it  to- 
day as  you  can  be.  "  Yours  truly, 

"B.  F. 


PATRONAGE.  181 

"P.S. — There  are  other  young  men,  with  as  good 
fortunes  as  English  Clay,  in  the  world." 

The  letter  and  the  postscript  disappointed  and  en- 
raged Mrs.  Falconer  and  Georgiana  beyond  description. 

English  Clay  left  his  D.  I.  O.  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  door, 
and  banged  down  to  Clay-hall. 

Georgiana,  violent  in  the  expression  of  her  disappoint- 
ment, would  have  exposed  herself  to  Lady  Trant,  and  to 
half  her  acquaintance ;  but  Mrs.  Falconer,  in  the  midst 
of  her  mortification,  retained  command  of  temper  suffi- 
cient to  take  thought  for  the  future.  She  warned  Lady 
Trant  to  be  silent,  and  took  precautions  to  prevent  the 
affair  from  being  known ;  providently  determining,  that, 
as  soon  as  her  daughter  should  recover  from  the  disap- 
pointment of  losing  Clay-hall,  she  would  marry  her  to 
Petcalf,  and  settle  her  at  once  at  the  lodge  in  Asia 
Minor." 

"  Till  Georgiana  is  married,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  the 
commissioner  will  never  let  me  have  peace  :  if  English 
Clay's  breaking  off  the  match  gets  wind,  we  are  undone  ; 
for  who  will  think  of  a  rejected  girl,  beautiful  or  fash- 
ionable though  she  be  1  So  the  best  thing  that  can  be 
done  is  to  marry  her  immediately  to  Petcalf.  I  will 
have  it  so — and  the  wedding  clothes  will  not  have  been 
bought  in  vain." 

The  bringing  down  the  young  lady's  imagination,  how- 
ever, from  Clay-hall  to  a  lodge  was  a  task  of  much  diffi- 
culty ;  and  Mrs.  Falconer  often  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
heart  exclaimed,  that  she  had  the  most  ungrateful  chil- 
dren in  the  world.  It  seems  that  it  is  a  tacit  compact 
between  mothers  and  daughters  of  a  certain  class,  that 
if  the  young  ladies  are  dressed,  amused,  advertised,  and 
exhibited  at  every  fashionable  public  place  and  private 
party,  their  hearts,  or  hands  at  least,  are  to  be  absolutely 
at  the  disposal  of  their  parents. 

It  was  just  when  Mrs.  Falconer  was  exasperated  by 
Georgiana's  ingratitude  that  her  son  Buckhurst  was 
obliged  to  come  to  London  after  his  marriage,  to  settle 
with  his  creditors.  His  bride  insisted  upon  accompany- 
ing him,  and  chose  this  unpropitious  time  for  being  in- 
troduced to  his  family.  And  such  a  bride  !  Mrs.  Buck- 
hurst  Falconer !  Such  an  introduction !  Such  a  recep- 
tion !  His  mother  cold  and  civil,  merely  from  policy  to 


182  PATRONAGE. 

prevent  their  family  quarrels  from  becoming  public ;  his 
sisters — 

But  enough.    Here  let  us  turn  from  the  painful  scene, 
and  leave  this  house  divided  against  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

LETTER  FROM  ALFRED  TO  HIS  FATHER. 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER, 

"  I  SEND  you  two  pamphlets  on  the  causes  of  the  late 
changes  in  the  ministry,  one  by  a  friend,  the  other  by  an 
enemy,  of  Lord  Oldborough.  Temple  I  should  have 
thought  the  author  of  the  first,  but  that  I  know  he  has 
not  time  to  write,  and  that  there  does  not  appear  any  of 
that  behind  the  scene  knowledge  which  his  situation  affords. 
All  the  pamphleteers  and  newspaper  politicians  write  as 
if  they  knew  the  whole — some  confident  that  the  min- 
istry split  on  one  question — some  on  another ;  long 
declamations  and  abuse  follow  as  usual  on  each  side, 
but  WISE  people,  and  of  course  myself  among  that  num- 
ber, suspect  '  that  all  that  we  know  is,  that  we  know 
nothing.'  That  there  was  some  private  intrigue  in  the 
cabinet,  which  has  not  yet  transpired,  I  opine  from 
Temple's  reserve  whenever  I  have  mentioned  the  sub- 
ject. This  morning,  when  I  asked  him  to  frank  these 
pamphlets,  he  laughed,  and  said  that  I  was  sending  coals 
to  Newcastle :  what  this  meant  he  refused  to  explain, 
or  rather  he  attempted  to  explain  it  away  by  observing 
that  people  of  good  understanding  often  could  judge  bet- 
ter at  a  distance  of  what  was  passing  in  the  political 
world  than  those  who  were  close  to  the  scene  of  action, 
and  subject  to  hear  the  contradictory  reports  of  the  day  ; 
therefore,  he  conceived  that  I  might  be  sending  mate- 
rials for  thinking  to  one  who  could  judge  better  than  I 
can.  I  tormented  Temple  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with 
a  cross-examination  so  able,  that  it  was  really  a  pity  to 
waste  it  out  of  the  courts  ;  but  I  could  get  nothing  more 
from  him.  Is  it  possible,  my  dear  father,  that  you  are 
at  the  bottom  of  all  this  1 


PATRONAGE.  183 

"  Lord  Oldborough  certainly  told  me  the  other  day, 
and  in  a  very  significant  manner,  and,  as  I  now  recollect, 
fixing  his  inquiring  eye  upon  me,  as  he  said  the  words, 
that  he  not  only  felt  esteem  and  regard  for  Mr.  Percy, 
but  gratitude — gratitude  for  tried  friendship.  I  took  it 
at  the  time  as  a  general  expression  of  kindness ;  now  I 
recollect  the  look,  and  the  pause  after  the  word  grati- 
tude, I  put  this  with  Temple's  coals  to  Newcastle. 
But,  if  it  is  a  secret,  I  must  not  inquire,  and  if  it  is 
not,  you  will  tell  it  to  me.  So  I  shall  go  on  to  my  own 
affairs. 

"  The  other  day  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit  at  my  cham- 
bers from  an  East  India  director.  Lord  Oldborough,  I 
find,  recommended  it  to  him  to  employ  me  in  a  very  im- 
portant cause,  long  pending,  for  a  vast  sum  of  money : 
the  whole,  with  all  its  accumulated  and  accumulating 
interest,  depending  on  a  point  of  law.  Heaven  send  me 
special  sense,  or  special  nonsense,  sufficient  to  avoid  a 
nonsuit,  of  which  there  have  been  already  no  less  than 
three  in  this  cause. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Lord  Oldborough's  kindness  ? 
This  is  only  one  of  many  instances  in  which  I  have 
traced  his  desire  to  serve  me.  It  is  not  common  with 
politicians  thus  to  recollect  those  who  have  no  means 
of  serving  them,  and  who  have  never  reminded  them 
even  of  their  existence  by  paying  court  in  any  way 
actively  or  passively. 

"  The  Falconers  are  all  discontented  with  his  lord- 
ship at  this  moment,  because  he  has  disposed  of  a  sine- 
cure place  on  which  the  commissioner  had  long  had 
his  eye.  His  lordship  has  given  it  to  an  old  disabled 
sea-captain,  whom  he  knew  only  by  reputation. 

"  The  accounts  you  have  heard  of  Buckhurst's  mar- 
riage are,  alas !  too  true ;  and  what  you  have  been  told 
of  the  lady's  age  and  ugliness  is  not  exaggerated.  As 
to  her  temper  and  her  avarice,  I  am  afraid  that  what 
you  have  heard  of  them  is  also  true ;  for  a  brother  law- 
yer of  mine,  who  was  employed  to  draw  the  settlements, 
says  she  has  taken  care  to  keep  every  penny  she  could 
in  her  own  power;  and  that  in  the  whole  course  of 
his  practice  he  never  saw  so  hard  a  battle  between 
love  and  parsimony.  Poor  Buckhurst !  who  could 
have  foreseen  that  this  would  be  his  fate  ! .  I  met  him 
in  the  street  yesterday  with  his  bride,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  would  rather  be  hanged  than  receive  my  con- 


184  PATRONAGE. 

gratulations.  I  passed  without  seeming  to  have  seen 
them. 

"  I  have  just  received  Mr.  Barclay's  letter,  and  am 
going  to  work  upon  his  settlements.  So  Caroline's 
wishes  for  Lady  Mary  Pembroke  will  be  accomplished. 
I  asked  Temple  whether  Lord  Oldborough  had  heard 
any  thing  of  Count  Altenberg  since  his  return  to  his 
own  country.  Yes — one  private  letter  to  Lord  Oldbor- 
ough, from  which  nothing  had  transpired  but  one  line 
of  general  thanks  for  civilities  received  in  England. 
Temple,  who  seems  to  have  formed  the  same  notion 
and  the  same  wishes  that  we  had,  told  me  yesterday, 
without  my  questioning  him,  that  Lord  Oldborough  had 
written  with  his  own  hand  an  answer  to  the  count, 
which  none  of  the  secretaries  have  seen.  Temple,  in 
sealing  up  the  packet,  ventured  to  ask  whether  there 
was  any  chance  of  seeing  Count  Altenberg  again  in  Eng- 
land. '  None  that  he  knew,'  Lord  Oldborough  answered. 
Temple,  who  of  all  men  is  least  like  Commissioner  Fal- 
coner in  circumlocutory  address,  at  once  blurted  out, 
'  Is  Count  Altenberg  going  to  be  married  V  Lord  Old- 
borough  turned  and  looked  upon  him  with  surprise — 
whether  surprise  at  his  curiosity,  or  at  the  improba- 
bility of  the  count's  making  his  lordship  the  confidant 
of  his  love  affairs,  Temple  declares  he  was  in  too  much 
confusion  to  be  able  to  decide.  Lord  Oldborough  made 
no  reply,  but  took  up  an  answer  to  a  memorial  which 
he  had  ordered  Temple  to  draw,  pointed  out  some  un- 
lucky mistakes  in  it,  and  finished  by  saying  to  him, 
'  Mr.  Temple,  your  thoughts  are  not  in  your  business. 
Sir,  I  do  believe  you  are  in  love ;'  which  sentence  Tem- 
ple declares  his  lordship  pronounced  with  a  look  and 
accent  that  would  have  suited,  Sir,  I  do  believe  you  have 
the  plague.  '  And  if  so,  do  me  the  justice  to  let  me 
employ  Mr.  Shaw  to  do  your  business  till  you  are  mar- 
ried.' 

"Temple  says  that  Lord  Oldborough  is  proud  of 
showing  himself  a  foe  to  love,  which  he  considers  as 
the  bane  of  ambition,  and  as  one  of  the  weaknesses  of 
human  nature,  to  which  a  great  man  ought  to  be  su- 
perior. 

"  Whether  the  secretary  be  right  or  wrong  in  this 
opinion  of  his  lordship,  I  have  not  seen  enough  to  be 
able  to  determine  ;  and  I  suspect  that  Temple  is  not  at 
present  a  perfectly  calm  observer.  Ever  since  his  visit 


PATRONAGE.  185 

to  the  country  he  seems  not  to  be  entirely  master  of 
himself:  his  heart  is  still  hovering  round  about  some 
absent  object — what  object  I  do  not  know;  for  though 
he  does  not  deny  my  charge,  he  will  not  tell  me  the 
name  of  his  fair  one.  I  suspect  Lady  Frances  Arling- 
ton of  having  stolen  his  heart.  I  am  very  sorry  for  it  ; 
for  I  am  clear  she  is  only  coquetting  with  him.  Tem- 
ple says  that  he  is  too  poor  to  marry.  He  is  so  amiable 
that  I  am  sure  he  will  make  any  woman  he  marries 
happy,  if  it  be  not  her  own  fault,  and  if  they  have  but 
enough  to  live  upon.  It  grieves  me  to  hear  his  unavail- 
ing daily  regrets  for  having  quitted  the  bar.  Had  he 
continued  in  his  original  profession,  he  might,  and  in 
all  probability  would  have  been,  at  this  moment  (as  his 
competitor,  a  man  much  his  inferior  in  talent,  actu- 
ally is),  in  the  receipt  of  four  thousand  good  pounds 
per  annum,  independent  of  all  men ;  and  might  have 
married  any  woman  in  any  rank.  Besides,  even  with 
such  a  patron  as  Lord  Oldborough,  Temple  feels  de- 
pendence grievous  to  his  spirit.  He  is  of  a  very  good 
family,  and  was  not  early  used  to  a  subservient  situation. 
His  health,  too,  will  be  hurt  by  his  close  confinement  to 
the  business  of  office — and  he  has  no  time  for  indulging 
his  literary  tastes — no  play  for  his  genius :  that  was  his 
original  grievance  at  the  bar,  but  his  present  occupations 
are  less  congenial  to  his  taste  than  law  ever  was.  His 
brother-secretary,  Mr.  Shaw,  is  a  mere  matter-of-fact 
man,  who  is  particularly  unsuited  to  him — an  objector 
to  every  thing  new,  a  curtailer  and  contemner  of  all 
eloquence :  poor  Temple  is  uneasy  and  discontented ; 
he  would  give  up  his  situation  to-morrow,  but  that  he 
cannot  quit  Lord  Oldborough.  He  says  that  he  has  a 
hundred  times  resolved  to  resign — that  he  has  had  his 
letter  written,  and  the  words  on  his  lips ;  but  he  never 
could,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  present  the  letter,  or 
pronounce  the  farewell  to  Lord  Oldborough.  Wonder- 
ful the  ascendency  this  man  has  over  the  mind ! — Ex- 
traordinary his  power  of  attaching,  with  manners  so 
little  conciliatory!  Adieu,  my  dear  father;  I  have  in- 
dulged myselt  too  long  in  writing  to  you.  I  have  to 
read  over  the  late  Mr.  Panton's  will,  and  to  give  our 
friend  Mr.  Gresham  an  opinion  upon  it — notwithstand- 
ing Rosamond's  cruelty  to  him,  he  is  as  much  our  friend 
and  her  friend  as  ever.  Panton's  will  is  on  ten  skins 
of  parchment ;  and  then  I  have  a  plea  in  rejoinder  to 


186  PATRONAGE. 

draw  for  Lady  Jane  Granville ;  and,  worse  than  all,  to 
read  and  answer  four  of  her  ladyship's  notes  now  on 
my  table.  By-the-by,  I  would  rather  carry  on  a  suit  for 
any  four  men  than  for  one  such  woman  of  business  as 
poor  Lady  Jane.  She  is  never  at  rest  one  moment ; 
never  can  believe  that  either  lawyer  or  solicitor  knows 
what  he  is  about — always  thinks  her  letters  and  notes 
can  do  more  than  bills  in  chancery,  or  than  the  lord- 
chancellor  himself.  She  frets  incessantly.  I  must 
request  Erasmus  to  medicine  her  to  repose ;  she  has 
absolutely  a  law-fever.  Erasmus  is  at  Richmond — sent 
for  by  some  grandee :  he  is  in  high  practice.  He  told 
me  he  began  last  week  to  write  to  Rosamond,  from  the 
bedside  of  some  sleeping  patient,  a  full  and  true  answer 
to  all  hex  questions  about  Miss  Panton ;  but  the  sleeper 
awakened,  and  the  doctor  had  never  time  to  finish  his 
story. 

"  Adieu  a  second  time.     Love  to  all. 

"  Dear  father,  yours  affectionately, 

"  ALFRED  PERCY. 

«"  Just  as  I  began  the  second  skin  of  Panton's  will,  a 
note  was  brought  to  me  from — whom  do  you  think  1 — 
Loid  Oldborough,  requesting  to  see  me  at  four  o'clock. 
What  can  his  lordship  want  with  me  T — I  must  send  this 
frank  before  I  can  satisfy  my  own  curiosity  on  this 
point — or  yours,  Rosamond." 

After  finishing  the  perusal  ofMr.  Panton's  long-winded 
will,  writing  an  opinion  upon  it  for  Mr.  Gresham,  and 
penning  a  quieting  note  for  poor  Lady  Jane  Granville, 
Alfred,  eager  to  be  punctual  to  the  appointed  hour,  went 
to  the  minister.  He  need  not  have  looked  at  his  watch 
so  often,  or  have  walked  so  fast,  for  when  he  arrived  it 
wanted  five  minutes  of  the  time  appointed,  and  his  lord- 
ship had  not  returned  from  a  visit  to  the  Duke  of  Green- 
wich. He  was  told,  however,  that  orders  had  been 
given  for  his  admittance ;  and  he  was  shown  into  an 
apartment  where  he  had  leisure,  during  a  full  quarter  of 
an  hour,  to  admire  his  own  punctuality.  At  last  he 
heard  a  noise  of  loud  huzzas  in  the  street,  and,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  he  saw  a  crowd  at  the  farthest  end 
of  the  street ;  and,  as  it  moved  nearer,  perceived 
that  the  populace  had  taken  the  horses  from  Lord  Old- 
borough's  carriage,  and  were  drawing  him  to  his  own 

* 


PATRONAGE.  187 

door,  with  loud  acclamations.  His  lordship  bowed  to  the 
multitude,  as  he  got  out  of  his  carriage,  rather  proudly 
and  coldly,  yet  still  the  crowd  threw  up  their  hats  and 
huzzaed.  He  apologized  to  Alfred,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  for  having  been  later  than  his  appointment. 
Commissioner  Falconer  and  Mr.  Temple  were  with  him, 
and  the  commissioner  immediately  began  to  tell  how 
they  had  been  delayed  by  the  zeal  of  the  people.  Lord 
Oldborough  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  walked 
to  the  wmdow  to  read  it,  without  seeming  to  hear  one 
word  that  the  commissioner  was  saying,  and  without 
paying  any  attention  to  the  acclamations  of  the  multi- 
tude below,  which  were  again  repeated  on  their  seeing 
him  at  the  window.  When  his  lordship  had  finished 
looking  over  the  paper,  he  called  upon  Albert  to  witness 
it,  and  then  presenting  it  to  Mr.  Falconer,  he  said,  in 
his  haughtiest  manner,  "An  equivalent,  sir,  for  that 
sinecure  place  which  you  asked  for,  and  which  it  was 
out  of  my  power  to  obtain  for  you.  That  was  given  as 
the  just 're ward  of  merit,  and  of  public  services.  My 
private  debts — "  [Alfred  Percy  observed  that  his  lord- 
ship did  not  use  the  word  obligation} — "  my  private  debts 
to  your  family,  Mr.  Falconer,  could  not  be  paid  from  the 
public  fund  with  which  I  am  intrusted ;  but  you  will  not, 
I  hope,  find  me  the  less  desirous  that  they  should  be 
properly  acknowledged.  The  annuity,"  continued  he, 
putting  his  finger  on  the  amount,  which  the  commis- 
sioner longed  to  see,  but  at  which  he  had  not  dared  yet 
to  look,  "  the  annuity  is  to  the  full  amount  of  that  place 
which,  I  think  you  assured  me,  would  satisfy  your  and 
Mrs.  Falconer's  expectations." 

"  Oh !  my  lord,  more  than  satisfy :  but  from  your 
lordship's  private  fortune — from  your  lordship's  own 
emoluments  of  office,  I  cannot  possibly  think — Mrs. 
Falconer  would,  I  am  sure,  be  excessively  distressed — " 

"  Do  me  the  favour,  sir,  to  let  no  more  be  said  upon 
this  subject,"  interrupted  Lord  Oldborough.  "  As  you 
return  home,  will  you  speak  to  those  poor  people  whom 
I  still  hear  in  the  street,  and  advise  them  now  to  return 
peaceably  to  their  homes.  My  man  Rodney,  I  am 
afraid,  has  thought  it  for  my  honour  to  be  too  liberal 
to  these  good  people — but  you  will  speak  to  them,  com- 
missioner." 

The  commissioner,  who  never  completely  felt  Lord 
Oldborough's  character,  imagined  that  at  this  moment 


188  PATRONAGE. 

his  lordship  secretly  enjoyed  the  clamour  of  popular 
applause,  and  that  this  cold  indifference  was  affected  ; 
Mr.  Falconer,  therefore,  protested,  with  a  smile,  that 
he  would  do  his  best  to  calm  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
people,  but  that  it  was  a  hard,  if  not  impossible  task, 
to  stem  the  tide  of  Lord  Oldborough's  popularity. 
"  Enjoy  it,  my  lord  !"  concluded  Mr.  Falconer  ;  "  enjoy 
it! — No  minister  in  my  memory  ever  was  so  popular  !" 

As  soon  as  the  commissioner,  after  saying  these 
words,  had  left  the  room,  Lord  Oldborough,  in  a  tone  of 
sovereign  contempt,  repeated  the  word  "  Popularity ! 
There  goes  a  man,  now,  who  thinks  me  fit  to  be  a  fool 
to  fame  !" 

"  Popularity,"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "  is  a  bad  master,  but 
a  good  servant.  'A  great  man  will,'  as  Burke  says, 
'  disdain  to  veer  like  the  weathercock  on  the  temple  of 
fashion  with  every  breath  of  wind.'  But  may  he  not, 
my  lord — say, -for  you  know — may  he  not  wisely  take 
advantage  of  the  gale,  and  direct  this  great  power  so  as 
to  work  the  state-machinery  to  good  purpose  ]" 

"  A  dangerous  power,"  replied  Lord  Oldborough, 
turning  from  his  secretary  to  Alfred,  as  if  he  was  im- 
patient to  speak  of  business.  Temple,  who  had  more 
of  the  habits  of  a  man  of  letters  than  of  a  man  of  busi- 
ness or  of  a  courtier,  was  apt  unseasonably  to  pursue  a 
discussion,  and  to  pique  himself  upon  showing  sincerity 
by  declaring  a  difference  of  opinion  from  his  patron. 
Utterly  repugnant  as  this  was  to  the  minister's  habits 
and  temper,  yet  in  admiration  of  the  boldness  of  the 
man,  and  in  consideration  for  his  true  attachment,  Lord 
Oldborough  bore  it  with  magnanimous  patience — when 
he  had  time — and  when  he  had  not,  would  cut  it  short 
at  once. 

"  In  a  mixed  government,  popularity,  philosophically 
speaking,  if  I  may  differ  from  your  lordship, — "  Temple 
began. 

"  Permit  me,  sir,  first,"  interrupted  Lord  Oldborough, 
"to  settle  my  business  with  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  who, 
being  a  professional  man,-  and  in  high  practice,  probably 
sets  a  just  value  upon  his  time." 

Mr.  Temple,  who  was  a  man  of  quick  feelings,  felt  a 
word  or  glance  of  reproof  from  Lord  Oldborough  with 
keen  sensibility.  Alfred  could  not  fix  his  own  attention 
upon  what  his  lordship  was  now  beginning  to  say, 
Lord  Oldborough  saw  reflected  in  Alfred's  countenance 


PATRONAGE.  189 

the  disturbance  in  his  friend's :  and  immediately  return- 
ing, and  putting  a  key  into  Mr.  Temple's  hand — "  You 
will  do  me  a  service,  sir,"  said  he,  "  by  looking  over 
my  father's  papers,  marked  private  in  red  letters. 
They  may  be  necessary  in  this  business — they  are 
papers  which  I  could  trust  only  to  one  who  has  my 
interests  at  heart." 

Mr.  Temple's  face  brightened  instantly,  and  bowing 
much  lower  than  usual,  he  received  the  key  with  great 
respect,  and  hurried  away  to  search  for  the  papers. 

"  For  a  similar  reason,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,"  said  Lord 
Oldborough,  "  they  shall,  if  you  please  be  put  into  your 
hands."  His  lordship  moved  a  chair  towards  Alfred, 
and  seated  himself.  "  My  law-agent  has  not  satisfied 
me  of  late.  A  suit,  into  which  I  have  been  plunged  by 
those  who  had  the  direction  of  my  business,  has  not 
been  carried  on  with  ability  or  vigour.  I  had  not  leisure 
to  look  into  any  affairs  that  merely  concerned  my- 
self. Circumstances  have  just  wakened  me  to  the  sub- 
ject, and  to  the  perception  that  my  private  fortune  has 
suffered,  and  will  suffer  yet  more  materially,  unless  I 
am  fortunate  enough  to  find  united  in  the  same  person 
a  lawyer  and  a  friend.  I  have  looked  round,  and  see 
many  older  barristers  than  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  but  none 
so  likely  to  be  interested  in  my  alTairs  as  the  son  of  my 
earliest  friend,  and  few  more  capable  of  conducting  them 
with  diligence  and  ability.  May  I  hope,  sir,  for  hered- 
itary kindness  from  you,  as  well  as  for  professional  ser- 
vices V 

No  one  knew  better  than  Lord  Oldborough  how  to 
seem  receiving  while  he  conferred  a  favour ;  and  if  ever 
he  appeared  harsh,  it  was  only  where  he  knew  that  the 
people  to  whom  he  spoke  had  not  feelings  worthy  of 
his  consideration.  His  lordship  was  as  much  pleased 
by  the  manner  in  which  this  trust  was  accepted  as  our 
young  lawyer  could  be  by  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
offered. 

"  My  papers,  then,  shall  be  sent  to  you  directly,"  said 
Lord  Oldborough.  "  Look  over  them,  and  if  you  are  of 
opinion  that  my  case  is  a  bad  one,  I  will  stop  where  I 
am.  If,  on  the  contrary,  you  find  that  justice  and  law 
are  on  my  side,  proceed,  persist.  I  shall  trust  the  whole 
to  you,  sir,  without  a  further  question." 

Lord  Oldborough  next  spoke  of  a  steward  of  his  at 
Clermont-park,  who,  as  he  had  reason  to  suspect,  was 


180  PATRONAGE. 

leagued  with  a  certain  Attorney  Sharpe  in  fraudulent 
designs :  his  lordship  hoped  that  Mr.  Alfred  Percy, 
during  his  vacations,  when  spent  in  that  neighbourhood, 
might,  consistently  with  his  professional  duties,  find 
time  to  see  into  these  affairs;  and,  in  his  lordship's 
absence,  might  supply  the  want  of  the  master's  eye. 

Alfred  assured  his  lordship  that  no  effort  or  care 
should  be  wanting  on  his  part  to  justify  the  high  confi- 
dence with  which  he  was  honoured. 

"  Since  you  are  going  to  take  charge  of  my  business, 
sir,"  pursvied  Lord  Oldborough,  "it  is  fit  you  should 
know  my  views  relative  to  my  affairs.  In  my  present 
situation,  with  the  favour  I  enjoy,  and  the  opportunities 
I  command,  it  would  be  easy  to  make  my  fortune  what- 
ever I  pleased.  Avarice  is  not  my  passion.  It  is  my 
pride  not  to  increase  the  burdens  of  my  country.  Mine 
is  a  generous  country,  ever  ready  to  reward  her  public 
servants,  living  or  dying.  But,  while  I  live,  never  will 
I  speculate  upon  her  generosity,  and,  when  I  die,  never 
shall  my  heirs  appeal  to  her  compassion.  My  power 
at  its  zenith,  and  my  character  being  known,  I  can 
afford  to  lay  aside  much  of  that  adventitious  splendour 
which  adds  nothing  to  true  dignity.  Economy  and  dig- 
nity are  compatible — essential  to  each  other.  To  pre- 
serve independence,  and,  consequently  integrity,  econ- 
omy is  necessary  in  all  stations.  Therefore,  sir,  I  de- 
termine— for  I  am  not  stringing  sentences  together  that 
are  to  end  in  nothing — I  determine,  at  this  moment,  to 
begin  to  make  retrenchments  in  my  expenditure.  The 
establishment  at  Clermont-park,  whither  I  have  no 
thoughts  of  returning,  may  be  reduced.  I  commit  that, 
sir,  to  your  discretion." 

Mr.  Temple  returned  with  the  papers,  on  which 
Lord  Oldborough  put  his  seal,  and  said  his  solicitor 
should  deliver  them,  with  all  others  that  were  neces- 
sary, the  next  morning  to  Mr.  Percy.  Alfred,  careful 
never  to  intrude  a  moment  on  the  time  of  the  minister, 
rose,  and,  without  repeating  his  thanks,  made  his  bow. 

"  I  consider  this  lawsuit  as  a  fortunate  circumstance," 
said  Lord  Oldborough,  "  since  it  affords  me  means  at 
last  of  engaging  Mr.  Alfred  Percy  in  my  service,  in 
a  mode  which  cannot,"  added  his  Lordship,  smiling, 
"  interfere  with  his  family  horror  of  ministerial  pat- 
ronage." 

Alfred  said  something  respectfully  expressive  of  his 


PATRONAGE.  191 

sense  of  the  professional  advantage  he  must  derive  from 
being  employed  by  Lord  Oldborough — a  species  of  pat- 
ronage by  which  he  felt  himself  most  highly  honoured, 
and  for  which  he  was  sure  his  whole  family  would  feel 
properly  grateful. 

"  Sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  following  him  to  the  door, 
"  if  I  had  ever  doubted  it,  you  would  convimce  me  that 
perfect  propriety  of  manner  is  consistent  with  independ- 
ence of  mind.  As  to  the  rest,  we  all  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  client  and  a  patron." 

"The  management  of  Lord  Oldborough's  business 
necessarily  led  to  an  increase  of  intercourse  between 
his  lordship  and  Alfred,  which  was  peculiarly  agreeable 
to  our  young  barrister,  not  only  as  it  gave  him  opportu- 
nities of  seeing  more  of  the  character  of  this  minister, 
but  as  it  put  it  into  his  power  to  be  of  service  occasion- 
ally to  his  friend  Mr.  Temple.  Chained  to  a  desk,  his 
genius  confined  to  the  forms  of  office,  and  with  a  mas- 
ter too  high,  and  an  associate  too  low,  to  afford  him  any 
of  the  pleasures  of  society,  he  had  languished  for  want 
of  a  companion.  Alfred  encouraged  him  by  example  to 
submit  to  the  drudgery  of  business,  showed  him  that  a 
man  of  letters  may  become  a  man  of  business,  and  that 
the  habits  of  both  may  be  rendered  compatible.  Tem- 
ple now  performed  the  duties  of  his  office  with  all  that 
regularity  which  is  supposed  to  be  peculiar  to  dulness. 
About  this  time  he  had  been  brought  into  parliament  by 
Lord  Oldborough,  and  in  the  intervals  of  business,  in 
that  leisure  which  order  afforded  him,  he  employed  and 
concentrated  his  powers  on  a  political  question  of  con- 
siders ble  importance ;  and  when  he  was  completely 
master  of  the  subject,  he  rose  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  made  a  speech,  which,  from  all  parties,  ob- 
tained deserved  applause.  The  speech  was  published. 
A  few  days  afterward,  Mr.  Temple  happened  to  enter 
Lord  Oldborough's  cabinet  earlier  than  usual.  He  found 
his  lordship  reading,  and  reading  with  so  much  attention 
that  he  did  not  observe  him — he  heard  his  lordship's 
quick  and  decided  pencil  mark  page  after  page.  At 
length,  rising  and  turning  to  throw  the  book  on  the 
table,  Lord  Oldborough  saw  his  secretary  copying  a 
letter. 

"  An  excellent  speech — to  the  purpose,  sir,"  said  Lord 
Oldborough.  "  It  had  its  effect  on  the  House,  I  under- 
stand ;  and  I  thank  your  friend,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  for 


192  PATRONAGE. 

putting  it  into  my  hands  when  I  had  leisure  to  peruse  it 
with  attention." 

Lord  Oldborough  thought  for  some  moments,  then 
looked  over  some  official  papers  which  he  had  ordered 
Mr.  Temple  to  draw  up. 

"  Very  well,  sir — very  well.  A  man  of  genius,  I  see, 
can  becom»a  man  of  business." 

His  lordship  signed  the  papers,  and,  when  that  was 
finished,  turned  again  to  Mr.  Temple. 

"  Sir,  some  time  ago  a  place  was  vacant,  which,  I 
know,  you  had  reason  to  expect.  It  was  given  to  Mr. 
Shaw,  because  it  was  better  suited  to  him  than  to  you. 
The  manner  in  which  you  took  your  disappointment 
showed  a  confidence  in  my  justice.  Have  you  any  ob- 
jection, Mr.  Temple,  to  the  diplomatic  line  ?" 

"  I  fear — or  I  should  say,  I  hope — my  lord,  that  I 
have  not  the  habits  of  dissimulation,  which,  as  I  have 
always  understood,  are  necessary  to  success  in  the  di- 
plomatic line." 

"  You  have  understood  wrongly,  sir,"  replied  Lord 
Oldborough.  "  I,  who  have  seen  something  of  courts, 
and  know  something  of  diplomacy,  am  of  opinion  that  a 
man  of  sense,  who  knows  what  he  is  about,  who  says 
the  thing  that  is,  who  will  tell  at  once  what  he  can  do, 
and  what  he  cannot,  would  succeed  better  as  a  negoti- 
ator in  the  present  state  of  Europe,  than  could  any  di- 
plomatist with  all  the  simulation  and  dissimulation  of 
Chesterfield,  or  with  the  tact  of  Mazarin." 

"  Indeed,  my  lord  !"  said  Mr.  Temple,  looking  up  with 
an  air  of  surprise  that  almost  expressed,  then  why  did 
you  choose  Cunningham  Falconer  for  an  envoy  1 

"  Pray,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  taking  a  long  inspira- 
tion with  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  pray,  with  that  despatch  this 
morning  from  Mr.  Cunningham  Falconer  were  there  any 
private  letters  1" 

"  One  for  Commissioner  Falconer,  my  lord." 

"  None  from  Count  Altenberg  to  me  ?" 

"  None,  my  lord." 

The  minister  took  a  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then  returning  to  Mr.  Temple,  said,  "  His  majesty  thinks 
proper,  sir,  to  appoint  you  ejivoy  in  the  place  of  Mr. 
Cunningham  Falconer,  who  is  recalled." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord — his  majesty  does  me  great 
honour,"  cried  Mr.  Temple,  with  sudden  gratitude :  then, 
his  countenance  and  tone  instantly  changing  from  joy 


PATRONAGE.  193 

to  sorrow,  he  added,  "  His  majesty  does  me  great  honour, 
my  lord,  but — " 

"  But  not  great  pleasure,  it  seems,  sir,"  said  Lord  Old- 
borough.  "  I  thought,  Mr.  Temple,  you  had  trusted  to 
me  the  advancement  of  your  fortune." 

"  My  fortune  !  My  lord,  I  am  struck  with  surprise 
and  gratitude  by  your  lordship's  goodness  in  taking 
thought  for  the  advancement  of  my  fortune.  But  1  have 
other  feelings." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  is  the  nature  of  your  other 
feelings,  sir?" 

"  My  lord — excuse  me — 1  cannot  tell  them  to  you." 

"  One  word  more,  sir.  Do  you  hesitate,  from  any 
motives  of  delicacy,  with  respect  to  the  present  envoy  ?" 

"  No,  my  lord,  you  look  too  high  for  my  motive ;  and 
the  higher  I  am  sensible  that  I  stand  in  your  lordship's 
opinion,  the  greater  is  my  fear  of  falling.  I  beg  you 
will  excuse  me  :  the  offer  that  your  lordship  has  had  the 
goodness  to  make  would  be  the  height  of  my  ambition; 
but  when  opposing  motives  draw  the  will  in  contrary 
directions — " 

"  Sir,  if  you  are  going  into  the  bottomless  pit  of 
metaphysics  excuse  me,"  said  Lord  Oldborough — "  there 
I  must  leave  you.  I  protest,  sir,  you  are  past  my  com- 
prehension." 

"  And  past  my  own,"  cried  Mr.  Temple,  "  for,"  with 
effort  he  uttered  the  words,  "  unfortunately  I  have 
formed  an — I  have  become  attached  to — " 

"  In  short,  sir,  you  are  in  love,  I  think,"  said  Lord  Old- 
borough,  coolly.  "  I  think  I  told  you  so,  sir,  more  than 
a  month  ago." 

"  I  have  said  it !  and  said  it  to  Lord  Oldborough !" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Temple,  looking  as  one  uncertain  whether  . 
he  were  dreaming  or  awake. 

"  It  is  undoubtedly  uncommon  to  select  a  minister  of 
state  for  the  confidant  of  a  love-affair,"  said  Lord  Old- 
borough,  with  an  air  of  some  repressed  humour. 

"  I  knew  I  should  expose  myself  to  your  lordship's 
derision,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Temple. 

He  was  too  much  engrossed  by  his  own  feelings,  as 
he  pronounced  these  words,  to  observe  in  his  lordship's 
countenance  an  extraordinary  emotion.  It  was  visible 
but  for  one  instant. 

With  a  look  more  placid,  and  a  tone  somewhat  below 
his  usual  voice,  Lord  Oldborough  said,  "  You  have  mis- 

VOL.  XV.— I 


1 94  PATRONAGE. 

judged  me  much,  Mr.  Temple,  if  you  have  conceived 
that  your  feelings,  that  such  feelings  would  be  matter 
of  derision  to  me.  But  since  you  have  touched  upon 
this  subject,  let  me  give  you  one  hint — Ambition  wears 
better  than  Love." 

Lord  Oldborough  sat  down  to  write,  and  added,  "  For 
one  fortnight  I  can  spare  you,  Mr.  Temple — Mr.  Shaw 
will  undertake  your  part  of  the  business  of  office.  At 
the  end  of  the  ensuing  fortnight,  I  trust  you  will  let  me 
have  your  answer." 

Full  of  gratitude,  Mr.  Temple  could  express  it  only 
by  a  bow — and  retired.  The  antechamber  was  now 
filling  fast  for  the  levee.  One  person  after  another 
stopped  him  ;  all  had  some  pressing  business,  or  some 
business  which  they  thought  of  consequence,  either  to 
the  nation  or  themselves. 

"  Mr.  Temple,  I  must  trouble  you  to  look  over  these 
heads  of  a  bill." 

"  Mr.  Temple  ! — My  memorial — just  give  me  your 
advice." 

"  Sir — I  wrote  a  letter,  three  weeks  ago,  to  Lord  Old- 
borough  on  the  herring-fishery,  to  which  1  have  not  had 
the  honour  of  an  answer." 

"  Mr.  Temple — the  address  from  Nottingham — 
Where's  the  reply !" 

"  Mr.  Temple,  may  I  know  whether  his  lordship 
means  to  see  us  gentlemen  from  the  city  about  the 
loan  1" 

"  Sir — Pray,  sir — My  new  invention  for  rifling  cannon 
— Ordnance  department ! — Sir,  I  did  apply — War-office, 
too,  sir ! — It's  very  hard  I  can't  get  an  answer — bandied 
about ! — Sir,  I  can't  think  myself  well  used — Government 
shall  hear  more." 

"  One  word,  Mr.  Temple,  if  you  please,  about  tithes 
I've  an  idea — " 

"  Temple,  don't  forget  the  Littleford  turnpike  bill." 

"  Mr.  Temple,  who  is  to  second  the  motion  on  Indian 
affairs  T" 

"  Temple,  my  good  friend,  did  you  speak  to  Lord  Old- 
borough  about  my  little  affair  for  Tom?" 

"  Mr.  Temple,  a  word  in  your  ear — the  member  for 
the  borough,  you  know,  is  dead  ;  letters  must  be  written 
directly  to  the  corporation." 

"  Temple,  my  dear  friend,  before  you  go,  give  me  a 
frank." 


• 


PATRONAGE.  195 

At  last  Mr.  Temple  got  away  from  memorialists,  peti- 
tioners, grievances,  men  of  business,  idle  men,  newsmen, 
and  dear  friends,  then  hastened  to  Alfred  to  unburden 
his  mind — and  to  rest  his  exhausted  spirits 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  moment  that  Mr.  Temple  reached  his  friend's 
chambers,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  What  repose — what  leisure — what  retirement  is 
here  !"  cried  he.  "  A  man  can  think  and  feel  a  moment 
for  himself." 

"  Not  well,  I  fear,  in  the  midst  of  the  crackling  of 
these  parchments,"  said  Albert,  folding  up  the  deeds 
at  which  he  had  been  at  work.  "  However,  I  have 
now  done  my  business  for  this  day,  and  I  am  your  man 
for  what  you  please — if  you  are  not  engaged  by  some 
of  your  great  people,  we  cannot  do  better  than  dine 
together." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Mr.  Temple. 

"  And  where  shall  we  dine  ?"  said  Alfred. 

"Anywhere  you  please.  But  I  have  a  great  deal  to 
say  to  you,  Alfred— don't  think  of  dining  yet." 

"  At  the  old  work  !"  cried  Alfred. 

"'You  think  of  convincing,  while  I  think  of  dining.'" 

But,  as  he  spoke,  Alfred  observed  his  friend's  agitated 
countenance,  and  immediately  becoming  serious,  he 
drew  a  chair  beside  Mr.  Temple,  and  said,  "  I  believe, 
Temple,  you  have  something  to  say  that  you  are  anxious 
about.  You  know  that  if  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do, 
head,  hand,  and  heart  are  at  your  service." 

"  Of  that  I  am  quite  sure,  else  I  should  not  come  here 
to  open  my  heart  to  you,"  replied  Mr.  Temple.  Then  he 
related  all  that  had  just  passed  between  Lord  Oldbor- 
ough  and  himself,  and  ended  by  asking  Alfred,  whether 
he  thought  there  was  any  chance  of  success  for  his 
love. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  who  the  lady  is,"  said  Alfred. 

"  Have  not  I  ? — but,  surely,  you  can  guess." 
12 


196  PATRONAGE. 

"  I  have  guessed — but  I  wish  to  be  mistaken — Lady 
Frances  Arlington  1" 

"  Quite  mistaken.     Guess  again — and  nearer  home." 

"  Nearer  home  ! — One  of  my  sisters  ] — Not  Caroline, 
I  hope  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  it  must  be  as  I  once  hoped.  But  why  did  you 
never  mention  it  to  me  before  ?" 

Mr.  Temple  declared  that  he  had  thought  there  was 
so  little  chance  of  his  ever  being  in  circumstances  in 
which  he  could  marry,  especially  a  woman  who  had  not 
some  fortune  of  her  own,  that  he  had  scarcely  ventured 
to  avow,  even  to  himself,  his  attachment. 

"  I  thought  my  love  would  wear  itself  out,"  added  he. 
"  Indeed  I  did  not  know  how  serious  a  business  it  was, 
till  this  sudden  proposal  was  made  to  me  of  leaving 
England  :  then  I  felt  that  I  should  drag  at  every  step,  a 
lengthening  chain.  In  plain  prose,  I  cannot  leave  Eng- 
land without  knowing  my  fate.  But  don't  let  me  make 
a  fool  of  myself,  Alfred.  No  man  of  sense  will  do  more 
than  hazard  a  refusal :  that  every  man  ought  to  do,  or 
he  sacrifices  the  dignity  of  the  woman  he  loves  to  his 
own  false  pride.  I  know  that  in  these  days  gentlemen- 
suitors  are  usually  expert  in  sounding  the  relations  of 
the  lady  they  wish  to  address.  To  inquire  whether  the 
lady  is  engaged  or  not  is,  I  think,  prudent  and  honour- 
able :  but  beyond  this,  I  consider  it  to  be  treacherous 
and  base  to  endeavour,  by  any  indirect  means,  to  engage 
relations  to  say  what  a  lover  should  learn  only  from  the 
lady  herself.  Therefore,  my  dear  friend,  all  I  ask  is 
whether  you  have  reason  to  believe  that  your  sister 
Rosamond's  heart  is  pre-engaged  :  or  if  you  think  that 
there  is  such  a  certainty  of  my  being  rejected,  as  ought 
in  common  prudence  to  prevent  my  hazarding  the  mor- 
tification of  a  refusal  ?" 

Alfred  assured  his  friend,  that,  to  the  best  of  his  belief, 
Rosamond's  heart  was  disengaged.  "  And,"  continued 
he,  "  as  a  witness  is  or  ought  to  be  prepared  to  tell  his 
cause  of  belief,  I  will  give  you  mine.  Some  time  since 
I  was  commissioned  by  a  gentleman,  who  wished  to 
address  her,  to  make  the  previous  inquiry,  and  the  an- 
swer was,  quite  disengaged.  Now  as  she  did  not  accept 
of  this  gentleman,  there  is  reason  to  conclude  that  he 
did  not  engage  her  affections — " 


PATRONAGE.  i97 

"  Was  he  rich  or  poor,  may  I  ask  1"  interrupted  Mr. 
Temple. 

"  That  is  a  leading  question,"  said  Alfred. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  tell  me  who  the  gentleman 
was — I  know  that  would  not  be  a  fair  question,  and  I 
trust  I  should  be  as  far  from  asking,  as  you  from  an- 
swering it.  But  there  are  so  many  rich  as  well  as  so 
many  poor  men  in  the  world,  that  in  answering  to  the 
inquiry  rich  or  poor,  what  city  or  court  man  do  you 
name,  I  want  only  to  draw  a  general  inference  as  to 
your  sister's  taste  for  wealth." 

"  Her  taste  is  assuredly  not  exclusively  for  wealth ; 
for  her  last  admirer  was  a  gentleman  of  very  large  for- 
tune." 

"  I  am  happy,  at  least,  in  that  respect,  in  not  resem- 
bling him,"  said  Mr.  Temple.  "  Now  for  my  other 
question — what  chance  for  myself?" 

"  Of  that,  my  good  friend,  you  must  judge  for  your- 
self. By  your  own  rule  all  you  have  a  right  to  hear  is, 
that  I,  Rosamond's  brother,  have  no  reason  for  believ- 
ing that  she  has  such  a  repugnance  to  you  as  would 
make  a  refusal  certain.  And  that  you  may  not  too 
much  admire  my  discretion,  I  must  add,  that  if  I  had  a 
mind  to  tell  you  more,  I  could  not.  All  I  know  is  that 
Rosamond,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  my  family,  in  their 
letters  spoke  of  you  with  general  approbation,  but  I  do 
not  believe  the  idea  of  considering  you  as  her  lover 
ever  entered  into  her  head  or  theirs." 

"  But  now  the  sooner  it  enters  the  better,"  cried  Mr. 
Temple.  "  Will  you — can  you — Have  not  you  business 
to  do  for  Lord  Oldborough  at  Clermont-park!" 

"  Yes — and  1  am  glad  of  it,  as  it  gives  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  indulging  myself  in  going  with  you,  my  dear 
Temple.  I  am  ready  to  set  out  at  any  moment." 

"  God  bless  you  !  The  sooner  the  better,  then.  This 
night  in  the  mail,  if  you  please.  I'll  run  and  take  our 
places,"  said  he,  snatching  up  his  hat. 

"  Better  send,"  cried  Alfred,  stopping  him :  "  my  man 
can  run  and  take  places  in  a  coach  as  well  as  you.  Do 
you  stay  with  me.  We  will  go  to  the  coffee-house 
dine,  and  be  ready  to  set  off." 

Mr.  Temple  acceded. 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  said  Alfred,  "  you  have  rela- 
tions and  connexions  of  your  own  who  should  be  con- 
sulted." 


198  PATRONAGE. 

Mr.  Temple  said  he  was  sure  that  all  his  relations  and 
connexions  would  highly  approve  of  an  alliance  with  the 
Percy  family.  "  But,  in  fact,"  added  he,  "  that  is  all 
they  will  care  about  the  matter.  My  relations,  though 
high  and  mighty  people,  have  never  been  of  any  ser- 
vice to  me  :  they  are  too  grand,  and  too  happy,  to  mind 
whether  a  younger  son  of  a  younger  son  sinks  or 
swims  ;  whether  I  lire  in  single  wretchedness  or  double 
blessedness.  Not  one  relation  has  nature  given  who 
cares  for  me  half  as  much  as  the  friend  I  have  made  far 
myself." 

Sincerely  as  Alfred  was  interested  for  his  success,  yet 
he  did  not  let  this  friendship  interfere  with  the  justice 
due  to  his  sister,  of  leaving  her  sole  arbitress  of  a  ques- 
tion which  movst  concerned  her  happiness. 

During  the  last  stage  of  their  journey  they  were  lucky 
enough  to  have  the  coach  to  themselves,  and  Mr.  Tem- 
ple made  himself  amends  for  the  restraint  under  which 
he  had  laboured  during  the  preceding  part  of  the  jour- 
ney, while  he  had  been  oppressed  by  the  presence  of 
men  whose  talk  was  of  the  lower  concerns  of  life. 
After  he  had  descanted  for  some  time  on  the  perfec- 
tions of  his  mistress,  he  ended  with  expressing  his  sur- 
prise that  his  friend,  who  had  often  of  late  rallied  him 
upon  his  being  in  love,  had  not  guessed  sooner  who  was 
the  object  of  his  passion. 

Alfred  said  that  the  idea  of  Rosamond  had  occurred 
to  him,  because  his  friend's  absence  of  mind  might  be 
dated  from  the  time  of  his  last  visit  to  Clermont-park ; 
"  but,"  said  Alfred,  "  as  Lady  Frances  Arlington  was 
there,  and  as  1  had  formerly  fancied  that  her  ladyship's 
wish  to  captivate  or  dazzle  you  had  not  been  quite  with- 
out effect,  I  was  still  in  doubt,  and  thought  even  your 
praises  of  Rosamond's  disposition  and  temper,  com- 
pared with  her  ladyship's,  might  only  be  ruse  de  guerre, 
or  ruse  cfamour." 

"  There  was  no  ruse  in  the  case,"  said  Mr.  Temple  ; 
"I  confess  that  when  I  first  emerged  from  my  ob- 
scurity into  all  the  light  and  life  of  the  world  of 
fashion,  my  eyes  were  dazzled,  and  before  I  recovered 
the  use  of  them  sufficiently  to  compare  the  splendid 
objects  by  which  I  found  myself  surrounded,  I  was  won- 
derfully struck  with  the  appearance  of  Lady  Frances 
Arlington,  and  did  not  measure,  as  I  ought,  the  immense 
difference  between  Lord  Oldborough's  secretary,  and  the 


PATRONAGE.  199 

niece  of  the  Duke  of  Greenwich.  Lady  Frances,  from 
mere  gaiete  de  c<rur,  likes  to  break  hearts ;  and  she  con- 
tinually wishes  to  add  one,  however  insignificant,  to  the 
number  of  her  conquests.  I,  a  simple  man  of  litera- 
ture, unskilled  in  the  wicked  ways  of  the  fair,  was 
charmed  by  her  ladyship's  innocent  naivete  and  frank 
gayety,  and  all  that  was 

Strangely  wild,  or  madly  gay, 

I  call'd  it  only  pretty  Fanny's  way.' 

Fortunately,  just  as  I  was  in  imminent  danger  of  ex- 
changing true  sighs  for  false  smiles,  I  became  acquainted 
\vith  your  sister  Ros'amond.     In  the  country,  and  under 
circumstances  more  favourable  for  the  development  of 
character  than  any  which  might  occur  for  months  or 
years  in  a  town-life,  where  all  the  men  and  women  are 
merely  actors,  I  had  leisure  to  see  and  mark  the  differ- 
ence and  the  resemblance  between  Lady  Frances  Ar- 
lington's character  and  that  of  your  sister.     They  re- 
sembled each  other  in  natural  quickness  of  intellect  and 
of  feeling ;  in  wit,  sprightliness,  and  enthusiasm,  they 
were  also  to  a  certain  degree  alike.     I  was  amused  by 
Lady  Frances  Arlington's  lively  nonsense,  till  I  heard 
your  sister's  lively  sense.     Her  ladyship  hazards  saying 
every  thing  that  occurs  to  her,  and  often  makes  happy 
hits  ;  but  your  sister's  style  of  wit  is  far  superior,  and 
far  more  agreeable,  because  it  has  the  grace,  elegance, 
and,  above  all,  the  infinite  variety,  which  literary  allu- 
sion supplies.     I  found  myself  pleased,  not  only  with 
what  she  said,  but  with  the  trains  of  ideas,  that,  by  a 
single  word,  she  often  suggested.    Conversing  with  her, 
my  mind  was  kept  always  active,  without  ever  being 
over-exerted  or  fatigued.     I  can  look  back,  and  trace 
the  whole  progress  of  my  attachment.     I  began  in  this 
way,  by  finding  her  conversation  most  delightful — but 
soon  discovered  that  she  was  not  only  more  entertain- 
ing and  more  cultivated,  but  far  more  amiable  than  my 
idol,  Lady  Frances,  because  she  had  never  been  an  idol, 
and  did  not  expect  to  be  adored.     Then  she  was  more 
interesting,  because  more  capable  of  being  interested. 
Lady  Frances  requires  much  sympathy,  but  gives  little  ; 
and  for  that  enthusiasm  of  temper  which  had,  at  first, 
charmed  me  in  her  ladyship,  I  began  to  lose  my  taste, 
when  1  observed  that  it  was  always  excited  by  trifles, 
and  by  trifles  that  concerned  herself  more  than  any  one 


200  PATRONAGE. 

else.  I  used  to  think  her — what  everybody  calls  her, 
a  perfectly  natural  character ;  and  so,  perhaps,  she  is : 
but  not  the  better  for  that — since  she  is  what,  I  am 
afraid,  we  all  are  naturally — selfish.  Her  ladyship,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  is  enthusiastically  selfish. 
Your  sister — enthusiastically  generous.  Lady  Frances's 
manners  are  caressing,  yet  I  doubt  whether  she  feels 
affection  for  any  one  living,  except  just  at  the  moment 
when  they  are  ministering  to  her  fancies.  It  was  Miss 
Percy's  warm  affection  for  her  sister  Caroline  which 
first  touched  my  heart.  I  saw  each  in  her  own  family. 
The  contrast  was  striking — in  short,  by  the  joint  effect 
of  contrast  and  resemblance,  my  love  for  one  lady  de- 
creased as  fast  as  it  increased  for  the  other  ;  and  I  had 
just  wit  and  judgment  enough  to  escape  from  snares 
that  could  not  have  held  me  long,  to  chains  that  have 
power  to  hold  me  for  ever." 

To  this  history  of  the  birth  and  progress  of  his  love, 
Mr.  Temple  added  many  expressions  of  his  hopes,  fears, 
and  regrets,  that  he  had  not  five  thousand  a  year,  instead 
of  five  hundred,  to  offer  his  mistress  ;  he  at  length  be- 
came absolutely  silent.  They  were  within  view  of  the 
Hills,  and  too  many  feelings  crowded  upon  his  mind  to 
be  expressed  in  words. 

And  now  we  might  reasonably  contrive  to  fill 

''Twelve  vast  French  romances  neatly  gilt," 

with  the  history  of  the  following  eventful  fortnight,  in- 
eluding  the  first  surprise  at  the  arrival  of  the  travellers 
— the  declaration  of  Mr.  Temple's  love — the  astonish- 
ment of  Rosamond  on  discovering  that  she  was  the 
object  of  this  passion — of  a  passion  so  generous  and 
ardent — the  consequent  and  rapid  discovery  of  a  hun- 
dred perfections  in  the  gentleman  which  had  before  es- 
caped her  penetration — the  strong  peculiar  temptation 
to  marry  him,  because  he  had  not  enough  to  live  upon 
— the  reaction  of  generosity  on  the  other  side  of  the 
question,  which  forbade  to  ruin  her  lover's  fortune — the 
fluctuations  of  sentiment  and  imagination,  the  delicacies 
of  generosity,  gratitude,  love,  and  finally,  the  decision  of 
common  sense. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Rosamond  not  only  that  she  had 
prudent  friends,  but  that  they  had  not  made  her  in  the 
least  afraid  of  their  superior  wisdom,  so  that  she  had, 
from  the  time  she  was  a  child,  told  them  every  idea,  as 


PATRONAGE.  201 

it  rose  in  her  vivid  imagination,  and  every  feeling  of  her 
susceptible  heart ;  imprudent  as  she  might  appear  in  her 
confidential  conversation,  this  never  passed  from  words 
to  actions.  And  now,  when  she  was  called  upon  in  an 
important  event  of  life  to  decide  for  herself,  she  acted 
with  consummate  discretion. 

Mr.  Temple's  character  and  manners  peculiarly 
pleased  her,  and  his  being  a  man  of  birth  and  family 
certainly  operated  much  in  his  favour.  Her  parents 
now,  as  in  Mr.  Gresham's  case,  did  not  suffer  their  own. 
tastes  or  prepossessions  to  interfere  with  her  happiness. 
Caroline,  grateful  for  the  sympathy  which  Rosamond 
had  always  shown  her,  took  the  warmest  interest  in  this 
affair.  Caroline  was  the  most  excellent,  indulgent,  yet 
safe  confidante ;  and  as  a  hearer,  she  was  absolutely 
indefatigable.  Rosamond  never  found  her  too  busy, 
too  lazy,  or  too  sleepy  to  listen  to  her :  late  at  night, 
early  in  the  morning,  or  in  the  most  hurried  moment 
of  the  day,  it  was  all  the  same — Caroline  seemed  to 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  hear,  think,  and  feel  for  Rosa- 
mond. 

The  fortnight  allowed  by  Lord  Oldborough  having 
now  nearly  elapsed,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  Rosa- 
mond should  come  to  some  decision.  Mr.  Temple's 
understanding,  temper,  disposition,  and  manners,  she 
allowed  to  be  excellent — his  conversation  was  particu- 
larly agreeable.  In  short,  after  searching  in  vain  for  an 
objection,  she  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  liked  him. 
Indeed,  before  she  had  allowed  this  in  words,  her  mother 
and  sister  had  made  the  discovery,  and  had  seen  the 
struggle  in  her  mind  between  love  and  prudence.  Mr. 
Temple's  fortune  was  not  sufficient  for  them  to  live 
upon,  and  she  knew  that  a  wife  in  his  present  circum- 
stances must  be  a  burden  to  him ;  therefore,  notwith- 
standing all  that  his  passion  and  all  that  her  own  par- 
tiality could  urge,  she  decidedly  refused  his  proposal  of 
an  immediate  union,  nor  would  she  enter  into  any  en- 
gagement, or  suffer  him  to  bind  himself  by  any  promise 
for  the  future;  but  he  obtained  permission  to  correspond 
with  her  during  his  absence  from  England,  and  with  the 
hope  that  she  was  not  quite  indifferent  to  him,  he  took 
leave  of  her — returned  to  town — waited  upon  Lord  Old-- 
borough— accepted  of  the  embassy,  and  prepared  for  his 
departure  to  the  Continent. 

Now  that  there  was  an  approaching  possibility  and 
13 


202  PATRONAGE. 

probability  of  hearing  of  Count  Altenberg,  Caroline  felt 
it  extremely  difficult  to  adhere  to  her  resolution  of  never 
thinking  of  him,  especially  as  her  mind,  which  had  been 
actively  occupied  and  deeply  interested  in  her  sister's 
concerns,  was  now  left  to  return  upon  itself  in  all  the 
leisure  of  retirement.  Fortunately  for  her,  about  this 
time  she  was  again  called  upon  for  that  sympathy  which 
she  was  ever  ready  to  give  to  her  friends.  She  received 
the  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Hungerford. 

LETTER   FROM    MRS.    HUNGERFORD    TO    MISS    CAROLINE 
PERCY. 

"  Come,  my  beloved  Caroline,  my  dear  young  friend, 
friend  of  my  family,  and  of  all  who  are  most  near  and 
dear  to  me — come,  and  enjoy  with  me  and  them  that 
happiness,  which  your  judicious  kindness  long  since  fore- 
saw, and  your  prudence  promoted. 

"  My  niece,  Lady  Mary  Pembroke,  is  at  last  per- 
suaded that  she  has  it  in  her  power  to  make  Mr.  Bar- 
clay permanently  happy.  He  has  been  obliged  to  take 
a  considerable  length  of  time  to  convince  her  of  the 
steadiness  of  his  attachment.  Indeed,  her  objection — 
that  he  had  been  charmed  by  such  a  coquette  as  the  lady 
by  whom  we  first  saw  him  captivated,  appeared  to  me 
strong ;  and  I  thought  my  niece  right  for  adhering  to  it, 
more  especially  as  I  believed  that  at  the  time  her  affec- 
tions pleaded  against  her  reason  in  his  favour,  and  that, 
if  she  had  been  convinced  long  ago,  it  would  not  have 
been  against  her  will. 

"  Mr.  Barclay  has  behaved  like  a  man  of  sense  and 
honour.  Without  disguise  he  told  her  of  his  former 
attachment  to  you.  She  instantly  made  an  answer, 
which  raised  her  high  in  my  estimation.  She  replied, 
that  Mr.  Barclay's  being  detached  from  Lady  Angelica 
Headingham  by  your  superior  merit,  was  to  her  the 
strongest  argument  in  his  favour.  She  must,  she  said, 
have  felt  insecure  in  the  possession  of  a  heart,  which 
had  been  transferred  directly  from  Lady  Angelica  to 
herself,  because  she  was  conscious  that  her  own  dispo- 
sition was  so  different  from  her  ladyship's ;  but  in  suc- 
ceeding to  the  affection  which  he  had  felt  for  a  woman 
of  your  character,  she  should  feel  perfect  security,  or 
at  least  reasonable  hope,  that  by  similar,  though  cer- 
tainly inferior  qualities,  she  might  ensure  his  happiness 


PATRONAGE.  203 

and  her  own.  They  are  to  be  married  next  week.  Lady 
Mary  particularly  wishes  that  you  should  be  one  of  her 
bride-maids — come  then,  my  love,  and  bring  all  my 
Percys.  I  shall  not  perfectly  enjoy  my  own  and  my 
niece's  happiness  till  you  share  it  with  me.  My  daughter 
Mortimer  insists  upon  signing  this  as  well  as  myself. 

"MARY  ELIZABETH  HUNGERFORD. 

"  KATE  MORTIMER." 

Caroline  and  all  Mrs.  HungerforcTs  Percys  obeyed  her 
summons  with  alacrity.  Lady  Mary  Pembroke's  mar- 
riage with  Mr.  Barclay  was  solemnized  under  the  hap- 
piest auspices,  and  in  the  midst  of  approving  and  sym- 
pathizing friends.  As  soon  as  the  ceremony  was  over, 
and  she  had  embraced  and  congratulated  her  neice,  Mrs. 
Hungerford  turned  to  Mrs.  Percy,  and  in  a  low  voice 
said,  "  If  it  were  not  too  much  for  one  so  happy  as  I  am, 
so  ricli  in  blessings,  to  ask  one  blessing  more,  I  should 
ask  to  be  permitted  to  live  to  see  the  day  when  our  dear 
Caroline — "  Mrs.  Hungerford  pressed  Mrs.  Percy's 
hand,  but  could  say  no  more  ;  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks  as  she  looked  up  to  heaven.  Some  minutes 
afterward,  following  Caroline  with  her  eyes,  "  Look  at 
her,  Mrs.  Percy !"  said  Mrs.  Hungerford.  "  Did  ever 
selfish  coquette,  in  the  height  of  triumph  over  lover  or 
rival,  enjoy  such  pleasure  as  you  see  sparkling  at  this 
moment  in  that  dear  girl's  countenance  V 

The  bride  and  bridegroom  set  off  immediately  for  Mr. 
Barclay's  seat  in  Berkshire.  Lady  Florence  accom- 
panied her  sister;  and  Mrs.  Hungerford,  after  parting 
from  both  her  nieces,  entreated  that  Caroline  might  be 
left  with  her.  "  It  is  a  selfish  request,  I  know,  my  dear ; 
but  at  my  age  I  cannot  afford  to  be  generous  of  the 
society  of  those  I  love.  Allow  me  to  plead  my  age> 
and  my — Well,  I  will  not  say  more,  since  I  see  it  gives 
you  pain,  and  since  I  see  you  will  grant  the  prayer  of 
my  petition,  rather  than  hear  my  claims  to  your  com- 
passion." 

Caroline  liked  particularly  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Hunger- 
ford  at  this  time,  when  there  was  not  any  company  at 
the  castle,  no  one  but  Mrs.  Hungerford  and  her  daugh- 
ter, so  that  she  had  the  full  and  quiet  enjoyment  of  their 
society.  At  this  time  of  her  life,  and  in  the  state  of  her 
mind  at  this  period,  no  society  could  have  been  more 
agreeable,  soothing,  and  useful  to  Caroline,  than  that  of 


204  PATRONAGE. 

such  a  friend.  One  who  had  not  forgotten  the  passions 
of  youth ;  who  could  give  at  once  sympathy  and  counsel ; 
who  was  willing  to  allow  to  love  its  full  and  exquisite 
power  to  exalt  the  happiness  of  human  life,  yet  appeared 
herself,  in  advanced  and  serene  old  age,  a  constant  ex- 
ample of  the  falsehood  of  the  notion,  that  the  enthusiasm 
of  passion  is  essential  to  felicity.  An  elegant  and  just 
distinction  has  been  made  by  a  philosophical  writer 
between  delicacy  of  passion  and  delicacy  of  taste.  One 
leading  to  that  ill-governed  susceptibility  which  trans- 
ports the  soul  to  ecstacy,  or  reduces  it  to  despair,  on 
every  adverse  or  prosperous  change  of  fortune ;  the 
other  enlarging  our  sphere  of  happiness,  by  directing 
and  increasing  our  sensibility  to  objects  of  which  we 
may  command  the  enjoyment,  instead  of  wasting  it  upon 
those  over  which  we  have  no  control.  Mrs.  Hunger- 
ford  was  a  striking  example  of  the  advantage  of  culti- 
vating delicacy  of  taste. 

At  an  advanced  age  she  showed  exquisite  perception 
of  pleasure  in  every  work  of  genius  ;  in  conversation, 
no  stroke  of  wit  or  humour  escaped  her  quick  intelli- 
gence, no  shade  of  sentiment  or  politeness  was  lost  upon 
her ;  and  on  hearing  of  any  trait  of  generosity  or  great- 
ness of  soul,  her  whole  countenance  beamed  with  de- 
light ;  yet  with  all  this  quickness  of  feeling  she  was 
quite  free  from  fastidiousness,  and  from  that  irritability 
about  trifles,  into  which  those  who  indulge  the  delicacy 
of  passion  in  youth  are  apt  to  degenerate  in  age.  Caro- 
line felt,  every  day,  increasing  affection  as  well  as 
admiration  for  Mrs.  Hungerford,  and  found  time  pass 
delightfully  in  her  company.  Besides  that  general  and 
well-chosen  acquaintance  with  literature  which  supplied 
her  with  perpetual  resources,  she  had  that  knowledge 
of  life  and  of  the  world  which  mixes  so  well,  in  conver- 
sation, with  the  knowledge  of  books.  She  had  known, 
intimately,  most  of  the  celebrated  people  of  the  last 
century,  and  had  store  of  curious  and  interesting  anec- 
dotes, which  she  produced  with  so  much  taste  and  judg- 
ment, and  told  so  well,  as  never  to  fatigue  attention. 
Caroline  found  that  her  mind  was  never  passive  or  dor- 
mant in  Mrs.  Hungerford's  company ;  she  was  always 
excited  to  follow  some  train  of  thought,  to  discuss  some 
interesting  question,  or  to  reflect  upon  some  new  idea. 
There  was,  besides,  in  the  whole  tenor  of  her  conver- 
sation and  remarks  such  an,  indulgence  for  human  nature, 


PATRONAGE.  205 

with  all  its  faults  and  follies,  as  left  the  most  pleasing 
and  encouraging  impression  on  the  mind,  and  inspired 
hope  and  confidence.  Her  anecdotes  and  her  philoso- 
phy all  tended  to  prove  that  there  is  more  virtue  than 
vice,  more  happiness  than  misery,  in  life ;  and,  above 
all,  that  there  is  a  greater  probability  that  the  world 
should  improve  than  that  it  should  degenerate.  Caro- 
line felt  pleased  continually  to  find  her  own  favourite 
opinions  and  hopes  supported  and  confirmed  by  the  ex- 
perience and  judgment  of  such  a  woman  ;  and  there  was 
something  gratifying  to  her,  in  being  thus  distinguished 
and  preferred  by  one  who  had  read  so  much  and  thought 
so  deeply. 

As  Mrs.  Hungerford  had  heard  nothing  more  of  Count 
Altenberg,  she  wisely  forbore  to  touch  upon  the  subject, 
or  even  mention  his  name  to  Caroline ;  and  she  saw, 
with  satisfaction,  the  care  with  which  her  young  friend 
turned  her  mind  from  every  dangerous  recollection. 
Sometimes,  however,  the  remembrance  of  the  count 
was  unavoidably  recalled  ;  once,  in  particular,  in  turning 
over  the  life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  there  was  a  passage 
copied  in  his  hand,  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  had  acci- 
dentally been  left  in  the  book. 

"  Algernon  Sidney,  in  a  letter  to  his  son,  says  that  in 
the  whole  of  his  life  he  never  knew  one  man,  of  what 
condition  soever,  arrive  at  any  degree  of  reputation  in 
the  world,  who  made  choice  of,  or  delighted  in  the 
company  or  conversation  of  those  who  in  their  qualities 
were  inferior,  or  in  their  parts  not  much  superior,  to 
himself." 

"  What  have  you  there,  my  love  1  Something  that 
pleases  and  interests  you  particularly,  I  see,"  said  Mrs. 
Hungerford,  not  knowing  what  it  was  that  Caroline 
was  reading :  "  show  it  me,  my  dear — I  am  sure  I  shall 
like  it." 

Caroline,  deeply  blushing,  gave  her  the  paper.  She 
recollected  the  hand-writing,  and  folding  up  the  paper, 
put  it  in  her  pocket-book. 

"  It  is  an  observation,"  said  she,  "  that  I  wish  I  could 
write  in  letters  of  gold,  for  the  advantage  of  all  the  young 
men  in  the  world  in  whom  I  take  any  interest." 

The  energetic  warmth  with  which  Mrs.  Hungerford 
spoke  relieved  Caroline,  as  it  seemed  to  justify  the  de- 


906  PATRONAGE. 

light  she  had  involuntarily  expressed — the  sentiments 
for  the  individual  seemed  now  enveloped  in  general 
approbation  and  benevolence.  She  never  loved  Mrs. 
Hungerford  better  than  at  this  instant. 

Mrs.  Hungerford  observed  that  none  of  the  common 
sentimental  passages,  either  in  poetry  or  novels,  ever 
seemed  to  affect  Caroline  ;  and  to  the  romantic  descrip- 
tions of  love  she  was  so  indifferent,  that  it  might  have 
appeared  to  a  common  observer  as  if  she  was,  and  ever 
would  be,  a  stranger  to  the  passion.  By  the  help  of  the 
active  and  plastic  powers  of  the  imagination,  any  and 
every  hero  of  a  novel  could  be  made  at  pleasure  to  ap- 
pear the  exact  resemblance  of  each  lady's  different  lover. 
Some,  indeed,  professed  a  peculiar  and  absolute  exclu- 
sive attachment,  founded  on  unintelligible  or  indescrib- 
able merits  or  graces ;  but  these  ladies,  of  all  others,  she 
had  found  were  most  liable  to  change,  and  on  further 
acquaintance  with  the  world  to  discover,  on  generaliz- 
ing their  notions,  similar  or  superior  attractions  in  new 
models  of  perfection.  In  Caroline,  Mrs.  Hungerford 
saw  none  of  these  capricious  fancies,  and  that  it  was 
not  her  imagination  but  her  reason  which  gave  Count 
Altenberg  the  exalted  place  he  held  in  her  esteem.  It 
was  therefore  with  pleasure  that  this  kind  lady  perceived 
that  her  young  friend's  residence  with  her  soothed  her 
mind,  and  restored  it  to  its  former  tone. 

But  Caroline  was  soon  obliged  to  leave  Hungerford 
Castle.  A  letter  from  Erasmus  informed  her  that  poor 
Lady  Jane  Granville  was  ill  of  a  nervous  fever,  that  she 
had  no  companion,  no  one  to  attend  her  but  a  maid-ser- 
vant, and  that  she  was  much  in  want  of  some  judicious 
friend  who  could  raise  her  spirits  and  tranquillize  her 
mind,  which  was  in  a  state  of  continual  agitation  about 
her  lawsuit.  Caroline,  remembering  Lady  Jane's  former 
kindness,  thought  this  a  fit  opportunity  to  show  her 
gratitude ;  and,  happy  as  she  was  with  her  friends  at 
Hungerford  Castle,  she  hesitated  not  a  moment  to  sacri- 
fice her  own  pleasure.  Her  father  and  mother  approved 
of  her  determination,  and  her  brother  Alfred  carried  her 
to  London. 


PATRONAGE.  207 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IN  these  days,  people  travel  with  so  much  safety, 
ease,  and  celerity,  that  heroines  have  little  chance  of 
adventures  on  the  road ;  and  a  journey  is  now  so  com- 
mon a  thing,  that,  as  Rosamond  observed,  the  most 
brilliant  imagination  has  no  hope  of  having  wonders  to 
relate.  To  Rosamond's  mortification,  Caroline  and  her 
brother  reached  London  without  any  event  having  oc- 
curred better  worth  recording  than  the  loss  of  an  um- 
brella. They  drove  into  town  when  it  was  nearly  dark, 
just  before  the  lamps  were  lighted ;  Caroline,  therefore, 
had  little  satisfaction  from  a  first  view  of  the  metropolis. 
iShe  found  Lady  Jane  Granville  in  a  small  lodging  in 
Clarges-street — the  room  dark — a  smell  of  smoke — the 
tea-equipage  prepared — Lady  Jane  lying  on  a  shabby- 
looking  sofa — drops  and  a  smelling-bottle  on  a  little 
table  beside  her.  She  raised  herself  as  Caroline  en- 
tered, looked  half  pleased,  half  ashamed  to  see  her ;  and, 
.stretching  out  her  hand,  said,  in  a  complaining  voice, 
"  Ah !  my  dear  Caroline,  are  you  really  come  1  This  is 
too  good !  Sadly  changed,  you  find — and  every  thing 
about  me — Sit  down,  my  dear — Keppel,  do  let  us  have 
tea  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said  Lady  Jane. 

"  As  soon  as  ever  Eustace  comes  in,  my  lady,"  an- 
swered Keppel,  peevishly. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  for  heaven's  sake,  allow  us  a  little 
more  light — I  cannot  live  without  light.  Come  nearer 
to  me,  my  dear  Caroline,  and  tell  me  how  did  you  leave 
all  our  friends  at  the  Hills  T' 

While  Caroline  was  answering  her  ladyship,  more 
candles  were  brought,  and  Lady  Jane  moved  them  on  the 
table  till  she  threw  the  light  full  on  Caroline's  face. 

"  Handsomer  than  ever!  And  altogether  so  formed. 
One  would  not  think,  Alfred,  she  had  been  buried  all  this 
time  in  the  country.  Ah  !  perverse  child ;  why  would 
not  you  come  when  I  could  have  been  of  some  use  to 
you — when,  at  least,  I  could  have  received  you  as  I 
ought  T  This  is  not  a  fit  place,  you  see ;  nor  am  I  now 
in  circumstances,  or  in  a  style  of  life — Heigho  t" 


208  PATRONAGE. 

"  Dr.  Percy  is  not  come  yet,"  resumed  she.  "  This 
is  his  usual  hour — and  I  wrote  a  note  to  tell  him  that  he 
would  meet  his  sister  Caroline  to-night." 

In  all  her  ladyship  said,  in  every  look  and  motion, 
there  was  the  same  nervous  hurry  and  inquietude.  Dr. 
Percy  arrived,  and  for  a  moment  Lady  Jane  forgot  her- 
self in  sympathy  with  the  pleasure  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter showed  at  meeting.  Soon,  however,  she  would  have 
relapsed  into  melancholy  comparisons,  but  that  Dr. 
Percy  checked  the  course  of  her  thoughts ;  and  with 
the  happy  art,  by  which  a  physician  of  conversational 
powers  can  amuse  a  nervous  patient,  he,  without  the  aid 
of  poppy  or  mandragora,  medicined  her  to  rest,  though 
not  to  sleep. 

When  Erasmus  was  alone  with  his  sister,  he  observed 
that  no  permanent  amendment  could  be  expected  in  Lady 
Jane's  health  till  her  mind  should  be  at  ease  about  her 
lawsuit.  While  this  was  undecided,  her  imagination 
vacillated  between  the  horror  of  neglected  poverty,  and 
the  hopes  of  recovering  her  former  splendour  and  con- 
sideration. The  lawsuit  was  not  to  be  decided  for  some 
weeks,  and  Caroline  saw  that  all  that  could  be  done  in 
the  mean  time  was  as  much  as  possible  to  sooth  and 
amuse  her  patient :  however  tiresome  and  difficult  the 
task,  she  went  through  it  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness 
and  sweetness  of  temper.  Day  after  day  she  passed 
alone  with  Lady  Jane,  hearing  her  complaints,  bodily 
and  mental,  and  listening  to  the  eternally  repeated  his- 
tory of  her  lawsuit.  But  Caroline's  patience  was  en- 
sured by  a  sense  of  gratitude,  which,  in  her,  was  not 
a  sentimental  phrase,  but  a  motive  for  long  endurance, 
still  more  difficult  than  active  exertion. 

One  half  hour  in  the  day,  however,  she  was  sure  of 
being  happy — the  half  hour  when  her  brother  Erasmus 
paid  his  visit.  Of  Alfred  she  saw  little,  for  he  was  so 
much  engaged  with  business,  that  a  few  minutes  now 
and  then  were  all  he  could  possibly  spare  from  his  pro- 
fessional duties.  Mr.  Temple  called.  She  was  sur- 
prised to  see  him,  for  she  thought  he  had  been  on  his 
way  to  the  Continent ;  but  he  told  her  that  difficulties 
had  occurred,  chiefly  through  the  manoauvres  of  Cun- 
ningham Falconer,  and  that  he  did  not  know  when  there 
would  be  an  end  of  these — that  Lord  Oldborough  was 
glad  of  the  delay  at  present,  because  he  wanted  Mr. 
Temple's  assistance,  as  the  other  secretary  had  been 


PATRONAGE.  209 

taken  ill,  and  his  lordship  had  not  yet  fixed  upon  a  con- 
fidential person  to  supply  his  place.  Of  course,  in  these 
circumstances,  Mr.  Temple  was  so  much  occupied,  that 
Caroline  saw  very  little  of  him ;  and  she  experienced, 
what  thousands  have  observed,  that,  however  people 
may  wish  to  meet  in  great  towns,  it  is  frequently  im- 
practicable, from  small  difficulties  as  to  time,  distance, 
and  connexions.  Of  Mr.  Gresham,  Caroline  had  hoped 
that  she  should  see  a  great  deal — her  brother  Erasmus 
had  long  since  introduced  him  to  Lady  Jane  Granville ; 
and,  notwithstanding  his  being  a  merchant,  her  ladyship 
liked  him.  He  was  as  much  disposed  as  ever  to  be 
friendly  to  the  whole  Percy  family ;  and  the  moment  he 
heard  of  Caroline's  being  in  town,  he  hastened  to  see 
her,  and  showed  all  his  former  affectionate  regard  in  his 
countenance  and  manner.  But  his  time  and  his  thoughts 
were  now  engrossed  by  an  affair  very  near  his  heart, 
which  he  was  impatient  to  bring  to  a  termination.  As 
soon  as  this  should  be  accomplished  he  was  to  set  out 
for  Amsterdam,  where  the  concerns  of  his  late  partner, 
old  Mr.  Panton,  as  his  correspondents  wrote,  imperiously 
demanded  his  presence. 

This  affair,  which  was  so  near  Mr.  Gresham's  heart, 
related  to  his  dear  Constance.  Alfred  had  alluded  to  it 
in  one  of  his  letters,  and  Erasmus  had  begun  to  write 
the  particulars  to  Rosamond ;  but  he  had  not  at  the  time 
leisure  to  finish  the  letter,  and  afterward  burnt  it,  being 
uncertain  how  the  romance,  as  Alfred  called  it,  might 
end.  He  therefore  thought  it  prudent  to  say  nothing 
about  it.  The  whole  story  was  now  told  to  Caroline, 
and,  briefly,  was  this. 

After  old  Panton's  rage  against  Dr.  Percy,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  suspicion  that  his  daughter  was  in  love 
with  him ;  after  the  strange  wig-scene  and  the  high 
words  that  followed,  had  driven  Erasmus  from  the  house, 
Constance  went  to  her  father,  and  intent  upon  doing 
justice  to  Erasmus,  at  whatever  hazard  to  herself,  pro- 
tested that  he  had  not  been  the  cause  of  her  refusal  of 
Lord  Roadster.  To  convince  her  father  of  this,  she 
confessed  that  her  heart  was  not  entirely  disengaged — 
no  threats,  no  persuasion,  could,  however,  draw  from 
her  the  name  of  the  person  whom  she  preferred :  she 
knew  that  to  name  him  would  be  only  to  ruin  his  for- 
tune— that  her  father  never  would  consent  to  her  mar- 
rying him ;  nor  had  the  object  of  her  preference  ever 


210  PATRONAGE. 

given  her  reason  to  think  that  he  felt  any  thing  more 
for  her  than  regard  and  respect.  Old  Panton,  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  understand  any  delicacies,  thought 
her  whole  confession  "nonsense:"  the  agitation  and 
hesitation  with  which  it  was  made,  and  her  eagerness  to 
clear  Dr.  Percy's  credit,  and  to  reinstate  him  in  her 
father's  favour,  conspired  to  convince  the  old  man  that 
his  "  own  first  original  opinion  was  right."  Of  this, 
indeed,  he  seldom  needed  any  additional  circumstances 
to  complete  the  conviction  on  any  occasion.  During 
the  remainder  of  his  life  he  continued  obstinate  in  his 
error:  "If  she  likes  anybody  else,  why  can't  the  girl 
name  him  1  Nonsense — that  cursed  Dr.  Percy  is  the 
man,  and  he  never  shall  be  the  man."  In  this  belief  old 
Panton  died,  and,  what  is  of  much  more  consequence, 
in  this  belief  he  made  his  will.  On  purpose  to  exclude 
Dr.  Percy,  and  in  the  hope  of  accomplishing  his  favour- 
ite purpose  of  ennobling  his  descendants,  he,  in  due 
legal  form,  inserted  a  clause  in  his  will,  stating,  "  that 
he  bequeathed  his  whole  fortune  (save  his  wife's  dower) 
to  his  beloved  daughter,  upon  condition,  that  within  the 
twelve  calendar  months  next  ensuing  after  his  decease, 
she,  the  said  Constance,  should  marry  a  man  not  below  the 
rank  of  the  son  of  a  baron.  But  in  case  she,  the  said  Con- 
stance, should  not  marry  within  the  said  twelve  calen- 
dar months,  or  should  marry  any  man  below  the  rank 
of  a  baron,  then  and  after  the  expiration  of  the  said 
twelve  calendar  months,  the  said  fortune  to  go  to  his 
beloved  wife,  except  an  annuity  of  two  hundred  pounds 
a  year,  to  be  paid  thereout  to  his  daughter  Constance." 
Mr.  Gresham  was  appointed  sole  executor  to  his  will. 
As  soon  as  it  was  decently  possible  after  old  Panton's 
decease,  Lord  Roadster  renewed  his  suit  to  Constance, 
and  was  civilly  but  very  steadily  refused.  Many  other 
suitors,  coming  within  the  description  of  persons  fa- 
voured by  the  will,  presented  themselves,  but  without 
success.  Some  making  their  application  to  Constance 
herself,  some  endeavouring  to  win  her  favour  through 
the  intercession  of  her  guardian,  Mr.  Gresham — all  in 
vain.  Month  after  month  had  passed  away,  and  Mr. 
Gresham  began  to  be  much  in  dread,  and  Mrs.  Panton, 
the  stepmother,  somewhat  in  hopes,  that  the  twelve 
calendar  months  would  elapse  without  the  young  lady's 
having  fulfilled  the  terms  prescribed  by  the  will.  Mr. 
Gresham,  one  morning,  took  his  fair  ward  apart,  and 


PATRONAGE.  21 1 

began  to  talk  to  her  seriously  upon  the  subject.  He 
told  her  that  he  had  thought  it  impossible  she  should 
act  from  mere  perverseness  or  caprice,  especially  as, 
from  her  childhood  upward,  he  had  never  seen  in  her 
any  symptoms  of  an  obstinate  or  capricious  disposition; 
therefore  he  was  well  convinced  that  she  had  some 
good  reason  for  refusing  so  many  offers  seemingly 
unexceptionable :  he  was  grieved  to  find  that  he  had 
not  sufficiently  won  or  deserved  her  confidence,  to  be 
trusted  with  the  secret  of  her  heart.  Constance,  who 
revered  and  loved  him  with  the  most  grateful  tender- 
ness, knelt  before  him  ;  and,  clasping  his  hand  in  hers, 
while  tears  rolled  over  her  blushing  cheeks,  endeavoured 
to  speak,  but  could  not  for  some  moments.  At  last,  she 
assured  him  that  delicacy,  and  the  uncertainty  in  which 
she  was  whether  she  was  beloved,  were  the  only  causes 
which  had  hitherto  prevented  her  from  speaking  on  this 
subject,  even  to  him,  who  now  stood  in  the  place  of  her 
father,  and  who  had  ever  treated  her  with  more  than  a 
father's  kindness. 

Mr.  Gresham  named  Erasmus  Percy. 

"  No." 

"  Mr.  Henry !" 

"  How  was  it  possible  that  Mr.  Gresham  had  never 
thought  of  him  V 

Mr.  Gresham  had  thought  of  him — had  suspected  that 
Mr.  Henry's  love  for  Constance  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  quitting  England — had  admired  the  young  man's  hon- 
ourable silence  and  resolution — had  recalled  him  from 
Amsterdam,  and  he  was  now  in  London. 

But  young  Henry,  who  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Gresham's 
favourable  disposition  towards  him,  who  had  only  com- 
mercial correspondence  with  him,  and  knew  little  of 
his  character,  considered  him  merely  as  the  executor  of 
Mr.  Panton,  and,  with  this  idea,  obeyed  his  summons 
home  to  settle  accounts.  When  they  met,  he  was  much 
surprised  by  Mr.  Gresham's  speaking,  not  of  accounts, 
but  of  Constance.  When  Mr.  Gresham  told  him  the 
terms  of  Mr.  Panton's  will,  far  from  appearing  disap- 
pointed or  dejected,  Mr.  Henry's  face  flushed  with  hope 
and  joy.  He  instantly  confessed  to  her  guardian  that 
he  loved  Constance  passionately  ;  and  that  now,  when 
it  could  not  be  supposed  he  had  mercenary  views, — now, 
when  no  duty,  no  honour  forbade  him,  he  would  try  his 
fate .  He  spoke  with  a  spirit  given  by  strong  passion  long 


212  PATRONAGE. 

repressed,  and  with  a  decision  of  character  which  his 
modesty  and  reserve  of  manner  had,  till  now,  prevented 
from  appearing. 

"  Did  he  consider,"  Mr.  Gresham  asked,  "  what  he 
expected  Miss  Panton  to  sacrifice  for  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  fortune,  not  duty — duty  he  could  never  have 
asked  her  to  sacrifice ;  he  could  not  have  esteemed  her 
if  she  had  sacrificed  duty.  As  to  the  rest,"  added  he 
proudly,  "  Miss  Panton  is  now  to  decide  between  love 
and  fortune." 

"  This  from  the  modest  Mr.  Henry !  from  whom,  till 
this  moment,  1  never  heard  a  syllable  that  savoured  of 
presumption!"  said  Mr.  Gresham. 

Mr.  Henry  was  silent — and  stood  with  an  air  of  proud 
determination.  Regardless  of  the  surprise  and  attention 
with  which  Mr.  Gresham  considered  him  during  this 
silence,  he  thought  for  a  few  moments,  and  asked,  "  Sir, 
when  may  I  see  Miss  Panton  V 

"  And  would  you,"  said  Mr.  Gresham,  "  if  it  were  in 
your  power,  sir,  reduce  the  woman  you  love  from  opu- 
lence to  poverty — to  distress  1" 

"  I  have  four  hundred  a  year,  Miss  Panton  has  two — 
six  hundred  a  year  is  not  poverty,  sir.  Distress — the 
woman  I  marry  shall  never  know  while  I  have  life  and 
health.  No,  sir,  this  is  not  romance.  Of  my  perse- 
verance in  whatever  I  undertake,  even  when  least  con- 
genial to  my  habits,  you  have  had  proofs.  Mr.  Gresham, 
if  Miss  Panton  approves  me,  and  if  love  can  make  her 
happy,  I  fear  not  to  assert  to  you,  her  guardian,  that  I 
will  make  her  happy.  If  she  love  me  not,  or,"  added 
he,  his  whole  countenance  changing  from  the  expres- 
sion of  ardent  love  to  that  of  cold  disdain,  "  or  if  love 
be  not  in  her  mind  superior  to  fortune,  then  I  have  little 
to  regret.  Wealth  and  honours  wait  her  command. 
But,"  resumed  he,  "  the  trial  I  will  make — the  hazard 
I  will  run.  If  I  am  mistaken — if  I  am  presumptuous — 
the  humiliation  be  mine — the  agony  all  my  own :  my 
heart  will  bear  it — or — break !" 

"  Heroics !"  said  Mr.  Gresham.     "  Now  let  me  ask — " 

"Let    me  ask,   sir — pardon    me,"   interrupted   Mr. 
Henry — "  Let  me  beg  to  see  Miss  Panton." 
Stay,  listen  to  me,  young  man — " 
Young  gentleman,  sir,  if  you  please." 
Young  gentleman,  sir,  if  you  please,"  repeated  Mr. 
Gresham,  mildly ;  "  I  can  make  allowance  for  all  thia — 


PATRONAGE.  213 

you  were  bred  a  soldier,  jealous  of  honour — but  listen 
to  me  :  there  is  one  thing  I  must  tell  you  before  you 
see  Miss  Panton — though  I  apprehend  it  may  somewhat 
mortify  you,  as  it  will  interfere  with  your  boast  of  dis- 
interestedness and  your  vow  of  poverty — Miss  Panton 
I  have  from  her  cradle  been  in  the  habit  of  consider- 
ing partly  as  my  own — my  own  child — and,  as  such,  I 
have  left  her  in  my  will  ten  thousand  pounds.  As  she 
will  want  this  money  before  my  death,  if  she  marries 
you,  I  must  convert  my  legacy  into  a  marriage-portion, 
and  you  shall  not,  sir,  have  love  without  fortune,  what- 
ever your  heroics  may  think  of  it.  Now  go  to  your 
mistress,  and  keep  my  secret." 

Young  Henry  was  evidently  more  touched  by  this 
generosity  than  by  this  bounty,  and  with  a  gentleness 
and  humility  the  most  feeling,  he  said,  "  How  shall  I 
thank  you,  sir,  for  bearing  with  me  as  you  did  ?" 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Gresham,  "  old  as  I  am,  I  know  what 
it  is  to  be  in  love,  and  can  conceive  too  what  it  is  to  fear 
that  a  guardian  might  be  cross,  and  that  the  executor 
and  the  partner  of  Mr.  Panton  might  act  like  Mr.  Panton 
himself.  Say  no  more — I  understand  it  all,  you  see — 
Go  to  your  Constance." 

Even  in  the  haughtiness  and  spirit  this  young  man 
had  shown,  Mr.  Gresham  saw  the  sincerity,  strength, 
and  disinterestedness  of  his  affection;  and  in  Mr.  Gre- 
sham's  estimation  these  were  no  trifling  merits.  We 
pass  over — shall  we  be  forgiven  ] — the  love-scenes  be- 
tween Mr.  Henry  and  Constance.  In  these  cases  it  is 
well  when  there  is  some  sober  friend  to  look  to  the 
common  sense  of  the  thing,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
altation to  do  the  necessary  business  of  life.  Mr.  Gre- 
sham laid  Mr.  Panton's  will  before  counsel  learned  in 
the  law,  took  opinions  from  two  different  counsel;  from 
Alfred  Percy,  whose  friendship  was  likely  to  quicken 
his  attention,  and  from  another  barrister  of  long  stand- 
ing, who,  being  totally  unconnected  with  the  parties, 
might  probably  give  a  perfectly  unbiased  and  dispas- 
sionate advice.  Both  agreed  that  there  was  no  avoid- 
ing the  clause  in  the  will ;  that  Miss  Panton,  if  she  mar- 
ried a  man  below  the  rank  of  a  baron's  son,  must  give 
up  her  fortune  to  her  stepmother  at  the  end  of  twelve 
calendar  months  from  the  time  of  her  father's  decease  ; 
but  both  barristers  gave  it  as  their  opinion,  that  the 
income  during  these  twelve  months  belonged  to  Con- 


214  PATRONAGE. 

stance:  this  was  a  considerable  sum,  which,  by  Mr. 
Gresham's  advice,  was  to  be  vested  with  the  rest  of 
Mr.  Henry's  capital  in  the  firm  of  the  house  of  Panton 
and  Co.  In  consequence  of  Mr.  Gresham's  earnest  re- 
commendation, and  of  his  own  excellent  conduct  and 
ability,  Mr.  Henry  was  from  this  time  joined  in  the  firm, 
and  as  one  of  the  partners  had  a  secure  income  propor- 
tioned to  his  part  of  the  capital,  besides  a  share  in  the 
very  advantageous  speculations  in  which  the  house  was 
engaged.  Mr.  Gresham  undertook  to  supply  Mr.  Henry's 
place  at  Amsterdam,  whither  he  was  under  the  neces- 
sity of  going.  His  house  he  would  leave  to  Constance 
during  his  absence.  She  had  best  begin  by  taking  pos- 
session of  it,  and  establish  herself  there,  he  observed, 
that  she  might  not  have  the  inconvenience  and  mortifi- 
cation of  being  turned  out  of  her  own  at  the  end  of  the 
year.  "  And  if,"  said  he,  "  I  should  be  able,  when  1 
return,  to  make  Mr.  Henry's  residence  with  me  agree- 
able to  him,  I  shall  hope  he  will  not,  while  I  live,  take 
my  Constance  quite  away  from  me — I  look  to  her  as  my 
chief  happiness  in  life." 

If  Rosamond  had  heard  the  sigh  which  closed  this 
speech,  and  if  she  had  seen  the  simplicity  and  delicacy 
of  Mr.  Gresham's  generosity  on  this  occasion,  she 
would  have  reproached  herself  for  refusing  him,  and 
would  almost  have  reasoned  herself  into  the  belief  that 
she  had  done  very  wrong  not  to  marry  him ;  but  this  be- 
lief would  only,  could  only,  have  lasted  till  she  should 
see  Mr.  Temple  again :  so  that,  upon  the  whole,  it  was 
best  for  poor  Mr.  Gresham  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
matter. 

All  things  being  arranged  thus  in  the  kindest  and 
most  convenient  manner  by  this  excellent  man,  and  the 
day  being  fixed  for  the  marriage  of  Constance  and  Mr. 
Henry,  Caroline  was  asked  to  be  bride-maid,  and  the 
honour  of  Lady  Jane  Granville's  company  was  re- 
quested. It  is  inconceivable  how  much  importance 
Lady  Jane  attached  to  the  idea  of  her  accepting  or  re- 
fusing this  request,  and  the  quantity  she  talked  about  it 
was  wonderful !  Notwithstanding  the  habitual  theme 
of  her  being  of  no  consequence  now  to  any  one,  of  her 
being  utterly  forgotten  and  out  of  the  world,  yet  she 
had  still  a  secret,  very  secret  belief,  that  all  she  did 
would  be  known  and  commented  upon ;  and  she  worked 
herself  up  to  think,  also,  that  the  honour  to  be  conferred 


PATRONAGE.  213 

or  the  offence  that  would  be  taken  in  consequence 
of  her  decision,  would  be  immortal.  Every  five  minutes 
for  two  hours  after  the  first  reading  of  Mr.  Gresham's 
note,  she  took  it  up,  laid  it  down,  and  argued  the  matter 
pro  and  con  to  Caroline. 

A  long  and  loud  knocking  at  the  door  came  to  Caro- 
line's relief :  it  was  repeated  with  imperious  impatience. 
"  Who  is  it,  my  dear  ?  look  out  of  the  window,  but  don't 
let  yourself  be  seen." 

Caroline  did  not  know  any  of  the  fashionable  equi- 
pages, which  to  Lady  Jane  appeared  a  great  defect  in 
her  education :  upon  this  occasion,  however,  she  thought 
she  recollected  the  livery  to  be  Mrs.  Falconer's. 

"  Oh !  no,  my  dear,  quite  impossible — the  Falconers 
have  not  been  near  me  this  age.  I  will  tell  you  whose 
livery  it  is — there  is  a  resemblance,  but  it  is  astonishing 
to  me  a  girl  of  your  sense  cannot  learn  the  difference — • 
it  is  old  Lady  Brangle's  livery." 

"  It  might  very  possibly  be  so,"  Caroline  allowed. 

The  servant  however  brought  in  cards  and  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Falconer — the  note  was  to  announce  to  Lady 
Jane  Granville  the  approaching  marriage  of  Miss  Fal- 
coner with  Sir  Robert  Percy — the  day  was  named,  and 
the  honour  of  Lady  Jane  Granville's  company  was  re- 
quested at  the  wedding.  Lady  Jane  knew  that  this  com- 
munication was  made,  not  in  the  least  in  the  kindness, 
but  in  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  heart ;  and  precisely 
in  the  same  spirit  in  which  it  was  written  Lady  Jane 
thought  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  receive  and  answer 
it.  Her  ladyship  was  really  warm  and  honest  in  her 
friendships,  and  very  grateful  to  her  branch  of  the  Percy 
family,  for  the  kindness  they  had  shown  her  in  adver- 
sity. 

"  I  think  it  extremely  ill-judged  and  ill-bred  of  Mrs. 
Falconer  to  invite  me  to  this  wedding.  Does  she  think 
I  have  no  feeling  ?-  My  own  near  relations  and  best 
friends  deprived  of  their  birthright  by  this  Sir  Robert 
Percy — does  she  conceive  it  possible  that  I  could  go  to 
such  a  wedding  1 — No;  nor  did  she  wish  or  expect  it; 
she  only  wrote  from  vanity,  and  I  shall  answer  her  with 
pride,  which,  at  least,  is  somewhat  superior  to  that  mean 
passion ;  and  I  shall  go,  I  am  now  determined,  to  Mr. 
Gresham's — I  do  nothing  by  halves." 

Her  ladyship  immediately  wrote  answers  to  both  the 
invitations.  Nothing  for  months  had  done,  her  so  much 


216  PATRONAGE. 

good  as  the  exertion,  interest,  and  imaginary  self-im- 
portance these  two  notes  created.  At  Mr.  Gresham's 
on  the  day  of  the  wedding  her  ladyship  appeared  with 
great  dignity,  and  was  satisfied  that  she  had  conferred 
honour  and  serious  obligation.  Could  she  have  seen 
into  the  minds  of  all  the  company,  she  would  have  been 
astonished  to  find  how  little  she  occupied  their  thoughts. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  whether  it  is  more  for 
the  happiness  or  misery  of  man  and  womankind  that 
politeness  should  cherish,  or  truth  destroy,  these  little 
delusions  of  self-love. 

Presently  there  appeared  in  the  newspapers  a  splendid 
account  of  the  marriage,  at  St.  George's  church,  Hano- 
ver-square, of  Sir  Robert  Percy,  of  Percy-hall,  with 
Arabella,  the  eldest  daughter  of  J.  Falconer,  Esquire  : 
present  at  the  ceremony  was  a  long  list  of-fashionable 
friends,  who,  as  Lady  Jane  Granville  observed,  "  would 
not  have  cared  if  the  bride  had  been  hanged  the  next 
minute."  The  happy  pair,  after  partaking  of  an  elegant 
collation,  set  out  in  a  barouche  and  four  for  Percy-hall, 
the  seat  of  Sir  Robert  Percy. 

"  So !"  cried  Lady  Jane,  throwing  down  the  paper, 
"  Mrs.  Falconer  has  accomplished  the  match  at  last,  and 
has  got  one  of  her  daughters  well  off  her  hands — the 
ugly  one  too.  Upon  my  word,  she  is  amazingly  clever. 
But,  after  all,  the  man  has  a  horrid  temper,  and  a  very 
bad  character.  Now  it  is  over,  my  dear  Caroline,  I 
must  tell  you,  that  long  ago,  before  I  was  so  well  aware 
of  what  sort  of  a  man  he  was,  I  had  formed  the  plan  of 
marrying  him  to  you,  and  so  uniting  the  two  branches, 
and  bringing  the  estate  into  your  family  ;  but  we  have 
often  reason  to  rejoice  that  our  best-concerted  schemes 
don't  succeed.  I  give  Mrs.  Falconer  joy.  For  worlds 
I  would  not  have  such  a  man  married  to  any  relation  or 
friend  of  mine — Oh !  if  I  recover  my  fortune,  Caroline, 
I  have  hopes  for  you !" 

Her  ladyship  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Gresham,  who  came  to  take  leave,  as  he  was  just  setting 
out  for  Holland.  He  was  a  man  who  said  less  and  did 
more  for  his  friends,  as  Caroline  observed,  than  almost 
any  person  she  knew.  On  seeing  his  gallery  of  paint- 
ings, she  had  noticed  some  beautiful  miniatures ;  he 
now  brought  all  those  which  she  had  admired,  and 
begged  to  leave  them  with  her  during  his  absence,  that 
ehe  might  at  her  leisure  copy  any  of  them  she  liked.  He 


PATRONAGE.  217 

knew  she  painted  in  miniature,  for  he  had  long  ago, 
when  at  the  Hills,  seen  her  copy  of  M.  de  Tourville's 
picture  of  Euphrosyne. 

"If,"  said  Mr.  Gresham,  observing  that  Caroline 
scrupled  to  take  charge  of  so  many  precious  pictures, 
"  If  you  are  too  proud  to  receive  from  me  the  slightest 
kindness  without  a  return,  I  am  willing  to  put  myself 
under  an  obligation  to  you.  While  I  am  away,  at  your 
leisure,  make  me  a  copy  of  that  Euphrosyne — I  shall 
love  it  for  your  sake,  and  as  reminding  me  of  the  time 
when  I  first  saw  it — the  happiest  time  perhaps  of  my 
life,"  added  he,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh  !  Rosamond,"  thought  Caroline,  "  if  you  had 
heard  that ! — and  if  you  knew  how  generously  kind  he 
has  been  to  your  brothers  !" 

At  parting  from  Alfred  and  Erasmus,  he  said  to  them-, 
"  My  good  young  friends,  why  don't  either  of  you 
marry  ?  To  be  sure  you  are  young  enough ;  but  think 
of  it  in  time,  and  don't  put  off,  put  off,  till  you  grow  into 
old  bachelors.  I  know  young  men  generally  in  these 
days  say,  they  find  it  too  expensive  to  marry — some 
truth  in  that,  but  more  selfishness :  here's  young  Mr. 
Henry  has  set  you  a  good  example.  Your  practice  in 
your  professions,  I  suppose,  puts  you  as  much  at  ease  in 
the  world  by  this  time  as  he  is.  Malthus,  you  know, 
whom  I  saw  you  studying  the  other  day,  objects  only 
to  people  marrying  before  they  can  maintain  a  family. 
Alfred,  when  I  was  at  the  Hills,  I  heard  of  a  certain 
Miss  Leicester.  If  you  shall  think  of  marrying  before 
I  come  back  again,  you'll  want  a  house,  and  I've  lent 
mine  already — but  money,  you  know,  can  place  one  in 
any  part  of  the  town  you  might  like  better — I  have  a 
sum  lying  idle  at  my  banker's,  which  I  have  just  had 
transferred  to  the  account  of  Alfred  and  Erasmus 
Percy — whichever  of  you  marry  before  I  come  back, 
must  do  me  the  favour  to  purchase  a  good  house — I 
must  have  it  at  the  polite  end  of  the  town,  or  I  shall  be 
worse  than  an  old  bachelor — let  me  find  it  well  furnished 
and  aired---nothing  airs  a  house  so  well  as  a  warm 
friend  :  then,  you  know,  if  I  should  not  fancy  your  pur- 
chase, I  leave  it  on  your  hands,  and  you  pay  me  the 
purchase-money  year  by  year,  at  your  leisure — if  you 
can  trust  that  I  will  not  throw  you  into  jail  for  it." 

The  warmth  of  Alfred's  thanks  in  particular  showed 

VOL.  XV.— K 


2 1 8  PATRONAGE. 

Mr.  irresnam  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken  about  Miss 
Leicester. 

"  I  wish  I  had  thought,  or  rather  I  wish  I  had  spoken 
of  this  sooner,"  added  Mr.  Gresham :  "  perhaps  I  might 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  married  before  my 
leaving  England  ;  but — no — it  is  best  as  it  is — 1  might 
have  hurried  things — and  in  these  matters  everybody 
likes  to  go  their  own  pace,  and  their  own  way.  So 
fare  ye  well — God  bless  you  both,  arid  give  you  good 
wives — I  can  ask  nothing  better  for  you  from  Heaven." 

No  man  could  be  more  disposed  than  Alfred  felt  him- 
self at  this  instant  to  agree  with  Mr.  Gresham,  and  to 
marry  immediately — visions  of  beauty  and  happiness 
floated  before  his  imagination  ;  but  a  solicitor  knocking 
at  the  door  of  his  chambers  recalled  him  to  the  sense 
of  the  sad  necessity  of  finishing  some  law-papers  in- 
stead of  going  into  the  country  to  see  his  fair  mistress. 
His  professional  duty  absolutely  required  his  remaining 
in  town  the  whole  of  this  term — Lady  Jane  Granville's 
business,  in  particular,  depended  upon  him — he  gave  his 
mind  to  it.  She  little  knew  how  difficult  it  was  to  him 
at  this  time  to  fix  his  attention,  or  how  much  temper  it 
required  in  these  circumstances  to  bear  with  her  impa- 
tience. The  week  before  her  cause  was  expected  to 
come  to  trial,  her  ladyship's  law-fever  was  at  its  height 
— Alfred  avoided  her  presence,  and  did  her  business. 

The  day  arrived — her  cause  came  on — Alfred's  ex- 
ertions proved  successful — and  hot  from  the  courts  he 
brought  the  first  joyful  news — a  decree  in  her  favour  ! 

Lady  Jane  started  up,  clasped  her  hands,  embraced 
Alfred,  embraced  Caroline,  returned  thanks  to  Heaven — 
again  and  again,  in  broken  sentences,  tried  to  express 
her  gratitude.  A  flood  of  tears  came  to  her  relief. 
"  Oh !  Alfred,  what  pleasure  your  generous  heart  must 
feel!" 

From  this  day — from  this  hour,  Lady  Jane's  health 
rapidly  recovered  ;  and,  as  Erasmus  observed,  her  law- 
yer had  at  last  proved  her  best  physician. 

When  Caroline  saw  Lady  Jane  restored  to  her 
strength,  and  in  excellent  spirits,  preparing  to  take  pos- 
session of  a  handsome  house  in  Spring-Gardens,  she 
thought  she  might  be  spared  to  return  to  her  own  family. 
But  Lady  Jane  would  not  part  with  her ;  she  insisted 
upon  keeping  her  the  remainder  of  the  winter,  promis- 
ing to  carry  her  back  to  the  Hills  in  a  few  weeks.  It  was 


PATRONAGE.  219 

plain  that  refusing  this  request  would  renew  the  ire  of 
Lady  Jane,  and  render  irreconcilable  the  quarrel  be- 
tween her  ladyship  and  the  Percy  family.  Caroline  felt 
extremely  unwilling  to  offend  one  whom  she  had 
obliged,  and  one  who  really  showed  such  anxiety  for 
her  happiness. 

"  I  know,  my  dear  Lady  Jane,"  said  she,  smiling, 
"  that  if  I  stay  with-  you,  you  will  form  a  hundred  kind 
schemes  for  my  establishment ;  but  forgive  me  when  I 
tell  you,  that  it  is  upon  the  strength  of  my  belief  in  the 
probability  that  they  will  none  of  them  be  accomplished, 
that  1  consent  to  accept  your  ladyship's  invitation." 

"  Perverse,  provoking,  and  incomprehensible  ! — But 
since  you  consent  to  stay,  my  dear,  I  will  not  quarrel 
with  your  motives :  I  will  let  them  rest  as  philosophically 
unintelligible  as  you  please.  Be  satisfied,  I  will  never 
more  accuse  you  of  perversity  in  refusing  me  formerly  ; 
nor  will  I  convict  you  of  inconsistency  for  obliging  me 
now.  The  being  convicted  of  inconsistency  I  know  is 
what  you  people,  who  pique  yourselves  upon  being 
rational,  are  so  afraid  of.  Now,  we  every-day  people, 
who  make  no  pretensions  to  be  reasonable,  have  no 
character  for  consistency  to  support — you  cannot  con- 
ceive what  delightful  liberty  we  enjoy.  In  lieu  of  whole 
tomes  of  casuistry,  the  simple  phrase,  '  I've  changed 
my  mind,'  does  our  business.  Do  let  me  hear  if  you 
could  prevail  upon  yourself  to  say  so." 

"  I've  changed  my  mind,"  said  Caroline,  playfully. 

"  That's  candid — now  I  love  as  well  as  admire  you." 

"  To  be  entirely  candid,  then,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  must, 
my  dear  Lady  Jane,  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  tell  you 
more." 

"  As  much  as  you  please,"  said  Lady  Jane,  "  for  I  am 
naturally  curious,  particularly  when  young  ladies  blush." 

Caroline  thought  that  however  Lady  Jane  and  she 
might  differ  on  some  points,  her  ladyship's  anxiety  to 
promote  her  happiness^  in  the  way  she  thought  most 
advantageous,  deserved  not  only  her  gratitude  but  her 
confidence.  Besides,  it  would  be  the  most  effectual 
way,  she  hoped,  of  preventing  Lady  Jane  from  forming 
any  schemes  for  her  establishment,  to  confess  at  once 
that  she  really  believed  it  was  not  likely  she  should 
meet  with  any  person  whose  character  and  merits  were 
equal  to  those  of  Count  Altenberg,  and  any  one  inferior 
to  him  she  was  determined  never  to  marry.  She  added 


220  PATRONAGE. 

a  few  words,  as  delicately  as  she  could,  upon  the  dread 
she  felt  of  being  presented  in  society  as  a  young  lady 
wishing  for  an  establishment. 

Lady  Jane  heard  all  she  said  upon  this  subject  with 
much  attention ;  but  when  she  had  finished,  her  lady- 
ship said  to  herself,  "  Nonsense  ! — Every  young  lady 
thinks  one  lover  perfect  till  she  has  seen  another.  Be- 
fore Caroline  has  passed  a  month  in  fashionable  society, 
provided  she  has  a  fashionable  admirer,  we  shall  hear  no 
more  of  this  Count  Altenberg." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  she,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
Caroline,  "  I  will  give  you  my  word  I  will,  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  comply  with  all  your  conditions.  You 
shall  not  be  advertised  as  a  young  lady  in  search  of  a 
husband — but  just  as  if  you  were  a  married  woman,  you 
will  give  me  leave  to  introduce  my  acquaintance  to 
you ;  and  if  they  should  find  out,  or  if  in  time  you 
should  find  out,  that  you  are  not  married,  you  know,  I 
shall  not  be  to  blame.' 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

BEHOLD  Lady  Jane  Granville  reinstated  in  her  fortune, 
occupying  a  fine  house  in  a  fashionable  situation,  with 
suitable  equipage  and  establishment !  carriages  rolling 
to  her  door ;  tickets  crowding  her  servants'  hands ;  an 
influx,  an  affluence  of  friends,  and  congratulations  such 
as  quite  astonished  Caroline. 

"  Where  were  these  people  all  the  time  she  lived  in 
Clarges-streef!"  thought  she. 

Lady  Jane,  though  she  knew  from  experience  the 
emptiness  and  insincerity  of  such  demonstrations  of  re- 
gard, was,  nevertheless,  habitually  pleased  by  them,  and 
proud  to  be  in  a  situation  where  numbers  found  it  worth 
while  to  pay  her  attentions.  But  notwithstanding  her 
foibles,  she  was  not  a  mere  fashionable  friend.  She  was 
warm  in  her  affection  for  Caroline.  The  producing  her 
young  friend  in  the  great  London  world  was  her  prime 
object. 

The  pretensions  of  individuals  are  often  cruelly  mor- 
tified when  they  come  to  encounter  the  vast  competi- 


PATRONAGE.  221 

tion  of  a  capital  city.  As  King  James  said  to  the 
country-gentleman  at  court,  "  The  little  vessels,  that 
made  a  figure  on  the  lake,  appear  insignificant  on  the 
ocean !'' 

Happily  for  Caroline,  she  had  not  formed  high  ex- 
pectations of  pleasure,  any  hope  of  producing  effect,  or 
even  sensation,  upon  her  first  appearance  in  the  fashion- 
able world.  As  she  said  in  her  letters  to  her  friends  at 
home,  nothing  could  be  more  dull  or  tiresome  than  her 
first  experience  of  a  young  lady's  introduction  into  life  ; 
nothing,  as  she  assured  Rosamond,  could  be  less  like  the 
reality  than  the  delightful  representations  in  novels, 
where  every  day  produces  new  scenes,  new  adventures, 
and  new  characters.  She  was  ashamed  to  write  such 
stupid  letters  from  London ;  but  unless  she  were  to  have 
recourse  to  invention,  she  literally  had  not  any  thing 
entertaining  to  tell.  She  would,  if  Rosamond  was  in 
despair,  invent  a  few  conquests  ;  and  like  great  histo- 
rians, put  in  some  fine  speeches  supposed  to  have  been 
spoken  by  celebrated  characters. 

In  reality,  Caroline's  beauty  had  not  passed  so  com- 
pletely unobserved  as   her  modesty  and  inexperience 
imagined.     She  did  not  know  the  signs  of  the  times. 
On  her  first  entrance  into  a  public  room  eyes  turned 
upon  her — the  eyes  of  mothers  with  apprehension,  of 
daughters  with  envy.     Some  gentlemen  looked  with 
admiration,  others  with  curiosity. 
A  new  face  !    Who  is  she  ]" 
A  relation  of  Lady  Jane  Granville." 
What  has  she  V 

I  don't  know — nothing,  I  believe." 
Nothing,  certainly — a  daughter  of  the  Percy  who 
lost  his  fortune." 

All  apprehensions  ceased  on  the  part  of  the  ladies, 
and  generally  all  admiration  on  the  part  of  the  gentle- 
men. Opera-glasses  turned  another  way.  Pity  suc- 
ceeding to  envy,  a  few  charitably  disposed  added,  "  Ah ! 
poor  thing!  unprovided  for — What  a  pity !" 

"Do  you  dance  to-night  1" 

"  Does  our  quadrille  come  next !" 

Some  gentleman,  an  abstract  admirer  of  beauty,  per- 
haps, asked  the  honour  of  her  hand — to  dance ;  but 
there  the  abstraction  generally  ended.  A  few,  indeed, 
went  further,  and  swore  that  she  was  a  fine  girl,  prophe- 
sied that  she  would  take,  and  declared  they  would  be 


222  PATRONAGE. 

d — d  if  they  would  not  think  of  her,  if  they  conM 
afford  it. 

From  their  prophecies  or  their  oaths  nothing  ensued, 
and  even  the  civilities  and  compliments  she  received 
from  Lady  Jane's  particular  friends  and  acquaintance, 
though  in  a  more  polite  style,  were  equally  unmeaning 
and  unproductive.  Days  passed  without  leaving  a  trace 
behind. 

Unluckily  for  Caroline,  her  brother  Alfred  was  about 
this  time  obliged  to  leave  town.  He  was  summoned 
to  the  country  by  Dr.  Leicester.  Dr.  Percy  was  so 
continually  employed,  that  she  could  scarcely  have  a 
few  minutes  in  a  week  of  his  company,  now  that  Lady 
Jane's,  health  no  longer  required  his  professional  attend- 
ance. Caroline,  who  had  always  been  used  to  do- 
mestic society  and  conversation,  was  thus  compelled 
to  live  completely  in  public,  without  the  pleasures  of 
home,  and  without  the  amusement  young  people  gener- 
ally enjoy  in  company,  when  they  are  with  those  of 
their  own  age  to  whom,  they  can  communicate  their 
thoughts.  Lady  Jane  Granville  was  so  much  afraid  of 
Caroline's  not  appearing  fashionable,  that  she  continu- 
ally cautioned  her  against  expressing  her  natural  feel- 
ings at  the  sight  of  any  thing-  new  and  surprising,  or  at 
the  perception  of  the  tiresome  or  ridiculous.  Her  lady- 
ship would  never  permit  her  protegee  to  ask  the  name 
of  any  person  in  public  places  or  at  private  parties — 
because  not  to  know  certain  people  "  argues  yourself 
unknown." 

"  I'll  tell  you  who  everybody  is  when  we  go  home  ;" 
but  when  she  was  at  home,  Lady  Jane  was  generally 
too  much  tired  to  explain  or  to.  comprehend  the  de- 
scription of  these  nameless  bodies  ;  and  evea  when  her 
ladyship  was  able  to  satisfy  her  curiosity,  Caroline  was 
apt  to  mistake  afterward  the  titles  and  histories  of  the 
personages,  and  by  the  misnomers  of  which  she  was 
guilty,  provoked  Lady  Jane  past  endurance.  Whether 
it  was  from  want  of  natural  genius  in  the  scholar,  or  in- 
terest in  the  study,  or  from  the  teacher's  thus  unphilo- 
sophically  separating  the  name  and  the  idea,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  Caroline  made  but  slow  progress  in  acquiring 
her  fashionable  nomenclature.  She  was  nearly  in 
despair  at  her  own  want  of  memory,  when  fortunately 
a  new  instructress  fell  in  her  way,  who  was  delighted 
with  her  ignoranqej  and  desired,  nothing  better  than  tp 


PATRONAGE.  223 

tell  her  who  was  who ;  in  every  private  party  and  public 
place  to  point  out  the  ridiculous  or  notorious,  and  at  the 
moment  the  figures  were  passing,  whether  they  heard 
or  not,  to  relate  anecdotes  characteristic  and  illustra- 
tive :  this  new,  entertaining  preceptress  was  Lady 
Frances  Arlington.  Her  ladyship  having  quarrelled 
with  Miss  Georgiana  Falconer,  hated  to  go  out  with 
Mrs.  Falconer,  hated  still  more  to  stay  at  home  with 
the  old  tapestry-working  duchess  her  aunt,  and  was 
delighted  to  have  Lady  Jane  Granville  to  take  her  every 
where.  She  cared  little  what  any  person  thought  of 
herself,  much  less  what  they  thought  of  Caroline  :  there- 
fore, free  from  all  the  delicacies  and  anxieties  of  Lady 
Jane's  friendship  and  systems,  Lady  Frances,  though 
from  different  premises  coming  to  the  same  conclusion, 
agreed  that  thinking  of  Caroline's  advantage  was  stuff  ! 
and  that  all  she  had  to  do  was  to  amuse  herself  in  town. 
Caroline  was  the  most  convenient  companion  to  go  out 
with,  for  she  never  crossed  her  ladyship  about  partners, 
or  admirers,  never  vied  with  her  for  admiration,  or 
seemed  to  mind  her  flirtations ;  but  quietly  suffering  her 
to  draw  off  all  the  fashionable  beaux,  whom  Lady  Jane 
stationed  upon  duty,  she  let  Lady  Frances  Arlington 
talk,  or  dance,  to  her  heart's  content,  and  was  satisfied 
often  to  sit  still  and  be  silent.  The  variety  of  words 
and  ideas,  facts  and  remarks,  which  her  lively  and  prac- 
tised companion  poured  into  her  mind,  Caroline  was 
left  to  class  for  herself,  to  generalize,  and  to  make  her 
own  conclusions.  Now  she  had  means  of  amusement 
she  took  pleasure  in  observing  all  that  was  going  on, 
and  she  knew  something  of  the  characters  and  motives 
of  the  actors  in  such  different  scenes.  As  a  spectator, 
she  was  particularly  struck  by  the  eagernee«  ^f  <»!'  *he 
players,  at  their  different  games  of  love,  interest,  or 
ambition ;  and  in  various  sets  of  company,  she  was 
diverted  by  observing  how  each  thought  themselves  the 
whole  world :  here  a  party  of  young  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, practising,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  steps  for 
their  quadrille ;  and  while  they  are  dancing  the  quadrille, 
jockey  gentlemen  ranged  against  the  wall  in  the  ball- 
room, talking  of  their  horses ;  grave  heads  and  snuff- 
boxes in  a  corner  settling  the  fate  of  Europe,  proving 
that  they  were,  are,  or  ought  to  be,  behind  the  scenes  ; 
at  the  card-tables,  sharpened  faces  seeing  nothing  in 
the  universe  but  their  cards ;  and  at  the  piano-forte  a 


224  PATRONAGE. 

get  of  signors  and  signoras,  and  ladies  of  quality,  mingled 
together  full  of  duets,  solos,  overtures,  cavatinas,  ex- 
pression, execution,  and  thorough-bass — mothers  in 
agonies,  daughters  pressed  or  pressing  forward — some 
young  and  trembling  with  shame — more,  though  young, 
yet  confident  of  applause — others,  and  these  the  saddest 
among  the  gay,  veteran  female  exhibitors,  tired  to  death, 
yet  forced  to  continue  the  unfruitful  glories.  In  one 
grand  party,  silence  and  state  ;  in  another  group,  rival 
matrons  chasing  round  the  room  the  heir  presumptive 
to  a  dukedom,  or  wedging  their  daughters  closer  and 
closer  to  that  door-way  through  which  Lord  William 
*****  must  pass.  Here  a  poet  acting  enthusiasm  with 
a  chapcau  Iras — there  another  dying  of  ennui  to  admira- 
tion ;  here  a  wit  cutting  and  slashing  right  or  wrong; 
there  a  man  of  judgment  standing  by,  silent  as  the  grave 
— all  for  notoriety.  While  others  of  high  rank,  birth, 
or  wealth,  without  effort  or  merit,  secure  of  distinction, 
looked  down  with  sober  contempt  upon  the  poor  strug- 
glers  and  wranglers  for  fame. 

Caroline  had  as  yet  seen  but  few  of  the  literary  can- 
didates for  celebrity ;  only  those  privileged  few,  who, 
combining  the  pretensions  of  rank  and  talent,  had  a 
natural  right  to  be  in  certain  circles ;  or  those  who, 
uniting  superior  address  to  superior  abilities,  had  risen: 
or  forced  their  way  into  fine  company.  Added  to  these 
were  two  or  three,  who  were  invited  to  parties  as  being 
the  wonder  and  show  of  the  season — persons  whom  the 
pride  of  rank  found  it  gratifying  to  have  at  command-,, 
and  who  afforded  to  them  a  most  happy  relief  from  the 
dulness  of  their  habitual  existence.  Caroline,  though 
pitying  the  exhibitors,  whenever  she  met  any  of  this 
description,  had  great  curiosity  to  see  more  of  literary 
society ;  but  Lady  Jane  systematically  hung  back  on 
this  point,  and  evaded  her  promises. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  did  promise  to  take  you  to  Lady  An- 
gelica Headingham's,  and  Lady  Spilsbury's,  but  there's 
time  enough — not  yet — not  till  I  have  established  you 
in  a  higher  society :  not  for  your  advantage  to  get  among 
the  blue-stockings — the  blue  rubs  off — and  the  least 
shade  might  ruin  you  with  some  people.  If  you  were 
married,  I  should  introduce  you  to  that  set  with  plea- 
sure, for  they  entertain  me  vastly,  and  it  is  a  great  pri- 
vation to  me  this  winter — a  long  fast ;  but  even  this 
abstinence  from  wit  I  can  endure  for  your  sake,  my 


PATRONAGE.  225 

dear  Caroline — you  are  my  first  object.  If  you  would 
take  the  bel  esprit  line  decidedly — Talents  you  have,  but 
not  courage  sufficient;  and  even  if  you  had,  you  are 
scarce  old  enough:  with  your  beauty  and  grace,  you 
have  a  better  chance  in  the  circle  you  are  in,  my  dear." 

But  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  who  thought  only  of  her 
own  chance  of  amusement,  seconded  Caroline's  wish  to 
see  the  literary  set.  Nothing  could  be  more  stupid,  her 
ladyship  said,  than  running  round  always  in  the  same 
circle  ;  for  her  part,  she  loved  to  see  clever  odd  people, 
and  though  her  aunt-duchess  would  not  let  her  go  to 
Lady  Spilsbury's,  yet  Lady  Frances  \vas  sure  that,  with 
Lady  Jane  Granville  for  a  chaperon,  she  could  get  a 
passport  for  Lady  Angelica  Headingham's,  "  because 
Lady  Angelica  is  a  sort  of  cousin,  1  can't  tell  you  how 
many  times  removed,  but  just  as  many  as  will  serve  my 
present  purpose — a  connexion  quite  near  enough  to 
prove  her  fashionable,  and  respectable,  and  all  that : 
so  my  dear  Lady  Jane — I'll  ask  leave,"  concluded  Lady 
Frances,  "  and  we  will  go  next  conversazione-day." 

No — Lady  Jane  was  firm  to  what  she  believed  to  be 
for  Caroline's  interest,  and  she  refused  to  take  her  into 
that  set,  and  therefore  declined  the  honour  of  chaperon- 
ing her  ladyship  to  Lady  Angelica  Headingham's. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Lady  Jane,  you  couldn't,  you  wouldn't 
be  so  cruel !  When  I  am  dying  with  impatience  to  see 
my  cousin  make  herself  ridiculous,  as  I  hear  she  does 
more  and  more  every  day  with  that  Baron  Wilhelmberg 
— Wilhelmberg,  I  said,  not  Altenberg — Miss  Caroline 
Percy  need  not  have  turned  her  head  so  quickly.  Lady 
Angelica's  man  is  a  German,  and  yours  was  a  Pole,  or 
Prussian,  was  not  he  1 — Do  you  know  the  ugliest  man  I 
ever  saw  in  my  life,  and  the  handsomest  were  both  Poles 
—but  they  are  all  well-bred." 

"  But  about  Lady  Angelica's  German  baron  V  inter- 
rupted Lady  Jane. 

"  Yes,  what  sort  of  person  is  he  ?"  said  Caroline. 

"As  unlike  your  Count  Altenberg  as  possible — an 
oddish-looking  genius — oldish,  too — like  one's  idea  of 
an  alchymist,  or  a  professor,  or  a  conjuror — like  any 
thing  rather  than  a  man  of  fashion  ;  but,  nevertheless, 
since  he  has  got  into  fashion,  the  ladies  have  all  found 
out  that  he  is  very  like  a  Roman  emperor — and  so  he 
is — like  any  head  on  an  old  coin." 
K3 


226  PATRONAGE. 

"  But  how  comes  there  to  be  such  a  value  set  on  this 
head  ] — How  came  he  into  fashion  ?"  said  Lady  Jane. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  don't  know  ]  Oh  !  it  was  when 
you  were  out  of  the  world  he  first  made  the  great  noise 
— by  dreaming — yes,  dreaming — dreaming  himself,  and 
making  everybody  else  dream  as  he  pleases  ;•  he  sported 
last  season  a  new  theory  of  dreaming — joins  practice 
to  theory,  too — very  extraordinary — interprets  all  your 
dreams  to  your  satisfaction,  they  say — and,  quite  on 
philosophical  principles,  can  make  you  dream  whatever 
he  pleases.  True,  upon  my  veracity." 

"Did  your  ladyship  ever  try  his  skill]"  said  Lady 
Jane. 

"  Not  I ;  for  the  duchess  would  not  hear  of  him — but 
I  long  the  more  to  know  what  he  could  make  me  dream. 
He  certainly  is  very  clever,  for  he  was  asked  last  winter 
everywhere.  All  the  world  ran  mad — Lady  Spilsbury, 
and  my  wise  cousin,  I  understand,  came  to  pulling  wigs 
for  him.  Angelica  conquered  at  last;  you  know  An- 
gelica was  always  a  little  bit  of  a  coquette — not  a  little 
bit  neither.  At  first  to  be  sure,  she  thought  no  more  of 
love  for  the  German  emperor  than  I  do  this  minute  ;  but 
he  knew  how  to  coquet  also — Who  woald  have  thought 
it  ? — So  there  were  notes,  and  verses,  and  dreams,  and 
interpretations,  and  I  can't  tell  you  what.  But,  so  far, 
the  man.  is  no  charlatan — he  has  made  Lady  Angelica 
dream  the  very  dream  he  chose — the  strangest,  too, 
imaginable — that  she  is  in  love  with  him.  And  the 
interpretation  is,  that  she  will  take  him  '  for  better  for 
worse.' " 

"That  is  your  own  interpretation,  is  not  it,  Lady 
Frances  ]"  said  Caroline. 

"  Is  it  possible  there  is  any  truth  in  it  ?"  said  Lady 
Jane. 

"All  true,  positively,  I  hear.  And  of  all  things,  I 
should  like  to  see  Lady  Angelica  and  the  baron  face  to 
face — tele-a-tete — or  profile  by  profile,  in  the  true  Ro- 
man emperor  and  empress  medal  style." 

"  So  should  I,  I  confess,"  said  Lady  Jane,  smiling. 

"The  best  or  the  worst  of  it  is,"  continued  Lady 
Frances,  "  that,  after  all,  this  baron  bold  is,  I've  a  notion, 
no  better  than  an  adventurer:  for  I  heard  a  little  bird 
sing,  that  a  certain  ambassador  hinted  confidentially, 
that  the  Baron  de  Wilhelmberg  would  find  it  difficult  t« 
prove  his  sixteen  quarterings.  But  now,  upon  both 


PATRONAGE.  227 

your  honours,  promise  me  you'll  never  mention  this — 
never  give  the  least  confidential  hint  of  it  to  man,  woman, 
or  child ;  because  it  might  get  round,  spoil  our  sport, 
and  never  might  I  have  the  dear  delight  of  drawing  the 
caricature." 

"  Now  your  ladyship  is  not  serious,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Caroline. 

"  Never  more  serious — never  so  serious  in  my  life ; 
and,  I  assure  you,"  cried  Lady  Frances,  speaking  very 
earnestly  and  anxiously,  "  if  you  give  the  least  hint,  I 
will  never  forgive  you  while  I  live ;  for  I  have  set  my 
heart  on  doing  the  caricature." 

"  Impossible  that,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  drawing  a 
caricature,  you  would  let  your  own  cousin  expose  her- 
self with  an  adventurer !"  said  Caroline. 

"  La !  Lady  Angelica  is  only  my  cousin  a  hundred  re- 
moves. I  can't  help  her  being  ridiculous :  everybody, 
I  dare  say,  has  ridiculous  cousins — and  laugh  one  must. 
If  one  was  forbid  to  laugh  at  one's  relatives,  it  would 
be  sad  indeed  for  those  who  have  extensive  connexions. 
Well,  Lady  Jane,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  don't  pique 
yourself  on  being  too  good  to  laugh  :  so  I  may  depend 
on  you.  Our  party  for  Lady  Angelica's  is  fixed  for 
Monday." 

No — Lady  Jane  had,  it  is  certain,  some  curiosity  and 
some  desire  to  laugh  at  her  neighbour's  expense.  So 
far,  Lady  Frances  had,  with  address,  touched  her  foible 
for  her  purpose  ;  but  Lady  Jane's  affection  for  Caroline 
strengthened  her  against  the  temptation.  She  was  per- 
suaded that  it  would  be  a  disadvantage  to  her  to  go  to 
this  conversazione.  She  would  not  upon  any  account 
have  Miss  Percy  be  seen  in  the  blue-stocking  set  at  pre- 
sent— she  had  her  reasons.  To  this  resolution  her  lady- 
ship adhered,  though  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  perti- 
nacious to  accomplish  any  purpose  she  took  into  her 
fancy,  returned  morning  after  morning  to  the  charge. 
Sometimes  she  would  come  with  intelligence  from  her 
fetcher  and  carrier  of  news,  as  she  called  him,  Captain 
Nuttal. 

One  day,  with  a  very  dejected  countenance,  her  lady- 
ship came  in,  saying,  "  It's  off— it's  all  off!  Nuttal  thinks 
it  will  never  be  a  match." 

The  next  day,  in  high  spirits,  she  brought  word,  "  It's 
on — it's  on  again!  Nuttal  thinks  it  will  certainly  be  a 
match — and  Angelica  is  more  delightfully  ridiculous  than. 


228  PATRONAGE. 

ever !  Now,  my  dear  Lady  Jane,  Tuesday  1 — next  week  * 
— the  week  afterward1?  In  short,  my  dearest  Lady 
Jane,  once  for  all,  will  you  ever  take  me  to  her  conver- 
sazione V 

"  Never,  my  dear  Lady  Frances,  till  Miss  Caroline 
Percy  is  married,"  said  Lady  Jane :  "  I  have  my  own 
reasons." 

"  Then  I  wish  Miss  Caroline  Percy  was  to  be  married 
to-morrow — 1  have  my  own  jeasons.  But,  after  all,  tell 
me,  is  there  any,  the  least  chance  of  Miss  Percy's  being 
married  V 

"  Not  the  least  chance,"  said  Caroline. 

"  That  is  her  own  fault,"  said  Lady  Jane,  looking  morti- 
fied and  displeased. 

"  That  cannot  be  said  of  me,  there's  one  comfort," 
cried  Lady  Frances.  "  If  I'm  not  married,  'tis  not  my 
fault ;  but  my  papa's,  who,  to  make  an  eldest  son,  left  me 
only  a  poor  5000/.  portion.  What  a  shame  to  rob  daugh- 
ters for  sons,  as  the  grandees  do  !  I  wish  it  had  pleased 
Heaven  to  have  made  me  the  daughter  of  an  honest  mer- 
chant, who  never  thinks  of  this  impertinence :  then,  with 
my  plum  or  plums,  I  might  have  chosen  the  first  spend- 
thrift lord  in  the  land,  or,  maybe,  I  might  have  been 
blessed  with  an  offer  from  that  paragon  of  perfection, 

Lord  William .  Do  you  know  what  made  him  such 

a  paragon  of  perfection  ]  His  elder  brother's  falling 
sick,  and  being  like  to  die.  Now,  if  the  brother  should 
recover,  adieu  to  my  Lord  William's  perfections." 

"  Not  in  the  opinion  of  all,"  said  Lady  Jane.  "  Lord 
William  was  a  favourite  of  mine,  and  I  saw  his  merit 
long  ago,  and  shall  see  it,  whether  his  elder  brother  dies 
or  recovers." 

"  At  all  events,"  continued  Lady  Frances,  "  he  will 
be  a  paragon,  you  will  see,  only  till  he  is  married,  and 
then — 

1  How  shall  1  your  true  love  know 
From  any  other  man?* 

By-the-by,  the  other  day,  Lord  William,  in  flying  from 
the  chase  of  matrons,  in  his  fright  (he  always  looks  like 
a  frightened  hare,  poor  creature \)  took  refuge  between, 
you  two  ladies.  Seriously,  Lady  Jane,  do  you  know  I 
think  you  manage  vastly  well  for  your  protegee — you 
are  not  so  broad  as  Mrs.  Falconer." 
"  Broad !  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon  for  repeating 


PATRONAGE.  229 

your  word,"  cried  Lady  Jane,  looking  quite  angry,  and 
feeling  too  angry  to  parry,  as  she  usually  did,  with  wit : 
"  I  really  don't  understand  your  ladyship." 

"  Then  I  must  wish  your  ladyship  a  good  morning, 
for  I've  no  time  or  talents  for  explanation,"  said  Lady 
Frances,  running  off,  delighted  to  have  produced  a  sen- 
sation. 

Lady  Jane  rang  for  her  carriage,  and  made  no  obser- 
vations on  what  had  passed.  But  in  the  evening  she 
declared  that  she  would  not  take  Lady  Frances  Arling- 
ton out  with  her  any  more,  that  her  ladyship's  spirits 
were  too  much  for  her.  "  Besides,  my  dear  Caroline, 
when  she  is  with  you,  I  never  hear  you  speak  a  word — 
you  leave  it  entirely  to  her  ladyship.  After  all,  she  is, 
if  you  observe,  a  perfectly  selfish  creature." 

Lady  Jane  recollected  various  instances  of  this. 

"  She  merely  makes  a  tool  of  me — my  carriage,  my 
servants,  my  time,  myself,  always  to  be  at  her  service, 
whenever  the  aunt-duchess  cannot,  or  will  not,  do  her 
ladyship's  behests.  For  the  slightest  errand  she  could 
devise,  she  would  send  me  to  the  antipodes ;  bid  me 
fetch  her  a  toothpick  from  the  farthest  inch  of  the  city. 
Well!  I  could  pardon, all  the  trouble  she  gives  for  her 
fancies,  if  she  would  take  any  trouble  for  others  in  re- 
turn. No — ask  her  to  do  the  least  thing  for  you,  and 
she  tells  you,  she'd  be  very  glad,  but  she  does  not  know 
how  ;  or,  she  would  do  it  this  minute,  but  that  she  has 
not  time  ;  or,  she  would  have  remembered  it  certainly, 
but  that  she  forgot  it."  • 

Caroline  admitted  that  Lady  Frances  was  thoughtless 
and  giddy,  but  she  hoped  not  incurably  selfish,  as  Lady 
Jane  now  seemed  to  suppose. 

"  Pardon  me,  she  is  incurably  selfish.  Her  childish- 
ness made  me  excuse  her  for  a  great  while :  I  fancied 
she  was  so  giddy  that  she  could  not  remember  any- 
thing ;  but  I  find  she  never  forgets  any  thing  on  which 
she  has  set  her  own  foolish  head.  Giddy !  I  can't  bear 
people  who  are  too  giddy  to  think  of  anybody  but  them- 
selves." 

Caroline  endeavoured  to  excuse  her  ladyship,  by  say- 
ing that,  by  all  accounts,  she  had  been  educated  in  a  way 
that  must  make  her  selfish.  "Idolized,  and  spoilt,  I 
think  you  told  me  she  was  V 

"  True,,  very  likely ;   let  her  mother,  or  her  grand- 


230  PATRONAGE. 

mother,  settle  that  account — I  am  not  to  blame,  and  I 
will  not  suffer  for  it.  You  know,  if  we  entered  like  your 
father  into  the  question  of  education,  we  might  go  back 
to  Adam  and  Eve,  and  find  nobody  to  blame  but  them. 
In  the  mean  time,  I  will  not  take  Lady  Frances  Arlington 
out  with  me  any  more — on  this  point  I  am  determined ; 
for,  suppose  I  forgave  her  selfishness  and  childishness, 
and  all  that,  why  should  I  be  subject  to  her  impertinence? 
She  has  been  suffered  to  say  whatever  comes  into  her 
head  and  to  think  it  wit.  Now,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
I  will  teach  her  better." 

Caroline,  who  always  saw  the  best  side  of  characters, 
pleaded  her  freedom  from  art  and  dissimulation. 

"  My  dear  Caroline,  she  is  not  half  so  free  from  dis- 
simulation as  you  are  from  envy  and  jealousy.  She  is 
always  in  your  way,  and  you  never  see  it.  I  can't  bear 
to  hear  you  defend  her,  when  I  know  she  would  and 
does  sacrifice  you  at  any  time  and  at  all  times  to  her 
own  amusement.  But  she  shall  not  stand  in  your  light 
— for  you  are  a  generous,  unsuspicious  creature.  Lady 
Frances  shall  never  go  out  with  me  again — and  I  have 
just  thought  of  an  excellent  way  of  settling  that  matter; 
I'll  change  my  coach  for  a  vis-a-vis,  which  will  carry 
only  two." 

This  Lady  Jane,  quick  and  decided,  immediately  ac- 
complished ;  she  adhered  to  her  resolution,  and  never 
did  take  Lady  Frances  Arlington  out  with  her  more. 

Returning  from  a  party  this  evening — a  party  where 
they  met  Lord  William,  who  had  sat  beside  Caroline  at 
supper — Lady  Jane  began  to  reproach  her  with  having 
been  unusually  reserved  and  silent. 

Caroline  said  she  was  not  conscious  of  this. 

"  I  hope  and  trust  I  am  not  too  broad,"  continued  Lady 
Jane,  with  a  very  proud  and  proper  look ;  "  but  I  own,  I 
think  there  is  as  much  indelicacy  in  a  young  lady's  hang- 
ing back  too  much  as  in  her  coming  too  forward.  And 
gentlemen  are  apt  to  over-rate  their  consequence  as 
much,  if  they  find  you  are  afraid  to  speak  to  them,  as  if 
you  were  to  talk — like  Miss  Falconer  herself." 

Caroline  assented  fully  to  the  truth  of  this  remaik; 
assured  Lady  Jane  that  she  had  not  intentionally  hung 
back  or  been  reserved ;  that  she  had  no  affectation  of 
this  sort.  In  a  word,  she  promised  to  exert  herself  more 
in  conversation,  since  Lady  Jane  desired  it. 


PATRONAGE.  2SH 

"  I  do  wish  it,  my  dear :  you  don't  get  on — there's  no 
getting  you  on.  You  certainly  do  not  talk  enough  to 
gentlemen  when  they  sit  beside  you.  It  will  be  ob- 
served." 

"  Then,  ma'am,  I  hope  it  will  be  observed,  too," 
said  Caroline,  smiling,  "  that  the  gentlemen  do  not  talk 
to  me." 

"No  matter — you  should  find  something  to  say  to 
them — you  have  plenty  of  gold,  but  no  ready  change 
about  you.  Now,  as  Lord  Chesterfield  tells  us,  you 
know,  that  will  never  do." 

Caroline  was  perfectly  sensible  of  this — she  knew  she 
was  deficient  in  the  sort  of  conversation  of  the  moment 
requisite  for  fine  company  and  public  places. 

"  But  when  I  have  nothing  to  say,  is  not  it  better  for 
me  to  say  nothing,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear — half  the  world  are  in  that  predicament; 
but  would  it  mend  our  condition  to  reduce  our  parties  to 
quakers'  silent  meetings  ?  My  dear,  you  must  conde- 
scend to  talk  without  saying  any  thing- — and  you  must 
bear  to  hear  and  say  the  same  words  a  hundred  times 
over ;  and  another  thing,  my  dear  Caroline — I  wish  you 
could  cure  yourself  of  looking  fatigued.  You  will  never 
be  thought  agreeable,  unless  you  can  endure,  without 
showing  that  you  are  tired,  the  most  stupid  people 
extant — " 

Caroline  smiled,  and  said  she  recollected  her  father's 
telling  her  that  "  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  the  most  agree- 
able man  of  his  day,  declared  that  his  secret  depended 
not  on  his  wit  or  talents  for  conversation,  but  on  his 
power  of  concealing  the  ennui  he  felt  in  stupid  com- 
pany." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  /  tell  you  so,  as  well  as  the  Prince 
de  Ligne,  and  let  me  see  that  you  profit  by  it  to-mor* 
row." 

The  next  night  they  went  to  a  large  party,  at  a  very- 
fine  lady's.  It  was  dull,  but  Caroline  did  her  best  to  look 
happy,  and  exerted  herself  to  talk  to  please  Lady  Jane, 
who,  from  her  card-table,  from  time  to  time,  looked  at 
her,  and  smiled.  When  they  got  into  their  carriage, 
Lady  Jane,  before  she  had  well  drawn  up  the  glass,  be- 
gan to  praise  her  for  her  performance  this  evening. 
"  Really,  my  dear,  you  got  on  very  well  to-night ;  and 
I  hear  Miss  Caroline  Percy  is  very  agreeable.  And, 
shall  I  tell  you  who  told  me  so  ? — No ;  that  would  make 


232  PATRONAGE. 

you  too  vain.  But  I'll  leave  you  to  sleep  upon  what  has 
been  said — to-morrow  you  shall  hear  more." 

The  next  morning,  Caroline  had  stolen  away  from 
visiters>  and  quietly  in  her  own  room  was  endeavouring 
to  proceed  in  her  copy  of  the  miniature  for  Mr.  Gresham, 
when  Lady  Jane  came  into  her  apartment,  with  a  letter 
and  its  cover  in  her  hand.  "  A  letter,  in  which  you, 
Caroline,  are  deeply  concerned." 

A  sudden  hope  darted  across  Caroline's  imagination, 
and  illuminated  her  countenance.  As  suddenly  it  van- 
ished, when  she  saw  on  the  cover  of  the  letter  no  foreign 
post-mark — no  foreign  hand — but  a  hand  unknown  to 
her. 

"  Deeply  concerned !  How  can  I — how — how  am  I 
concerned  in  this,  ma'am  t"  she  asked — with  difficulty 
commanding  her  voice  to  articulate  the  words. 

"  Only  a  proposal  for  you,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Jane, 
smiling  :  "  not  a  proposal  for  which  you  need  blush,  as 
you'll  see,  if  you'll  read." 

But  observing  that  Caroline  was  not  at  this  moment 
capable  of  reading,  without  seeming  to  notice  the  tremor 
of  her  hand,  and  that  she  was  holding  the  letter  upside 
down  before  her  eyes,  Lady  Jane,  with  kind  politenessv 
passed  on  to  the  picture  at  which  her  young  friend  had 
been  at  work,  and  stooping  to  examine  the  miniature 
with  her  glass,  made  some  observations  on  the  painting^ 
and  gave  Caroline  time  to  recover.  Nor  did  her  lady- 
ship look  up  till  Caroline  exclaimed,  "  John  Clay ! — Eng- 
lish Clay !" 

"Yes — Clay,  of  Clay-hall,  as  Mrs.  Falconer  would 
say.  You  see,  my  love,  I  told  you  truly,  it  was  no 
blushing  matter.  I  am  sorry  I  startled  you  by  my  ab- 
ruptness. Surprises  are  generally  ill-judged — and  always 
ill-bred.  Acquit  me,  I  beseech  you,  of  all  but  thought- 
lessness," said  Lady  Jane,  sitting  down  by  Caroline,  and 
kindly  taking  her  hand :  "  I  hope  you  know  I  am  not 
Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Caroline,  pressing  her  hand :  "  I 
feel  all  your  kindness,  all  your  politeness." 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  that  a  proposal  from  Clay,  of  Clay- 
hall,  would  be  to  you — just  what  it  is  to  me,"  said  Lady 
Jane.  "  I  hope  you  cannot  apprehend  that,  for  the  sake 
of  his  seven  or  ten  thousand,  whatever  he  has  per  an- 
num, I  should  press  such  a  match  upon  you,  Caroline  ! 
No,  no,  you  are  worth  something  much  better." 


PATRONAGE.  233 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  Lady  Jane,"  cried  Caroline,  era- 
bracing  her  with  warm  gratitude. 

"  Why,  child,  you  could  not  think  me  so — merely  mer- 
cenary. No ;  touch  me  upon  family,  or  fashion — any 
of  my  aristocratic  prejudices,  as  your  father  calls  them 
— and  I  might,  perhaps,  be  a  little  peremptory.  But 
John  Clay  is  a  man  just  risen  from  the  ranks,  lately  pro- 
moted from  being  a  manufacturer's  son  to  be  a  subaltern 
in  good  company,  looking  to  rise  another  step  by  pur- 
chase :  no,  no — a  Percy  could  not  accept  such  an  offer 
— no  loss  of  fortune  could  justify  such  a  mesalliance. 
Such  was  my  first  feeling,  and  I  am  sure  yours,  when 
you  read  at  the  bottom  of  this  awkwardly  folded  epistle, 
'  Your  ladyship's  most  devoted,  &c.  John  Clay' — " 

"  1  believe  I  had  no  feeling,  but  pure  surprise,"  said 
Caroline.  "  I  scarcely  think  Mr.  Clay  can  be  in  earnest 
— for,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  he  never  spoke 
five  words  to  me  in  his  life  !" 

"  English  Clay,  my  dear.  Has  not  he  said  every  thing 
in  one  word  ? — I  should  have  been  a  little  surprised,  but 
that  I  have  been  seeing  this  good  while  the  dessous  des 
cartes.  Don't  flatter  yourself  that  love  for  you  offers 
Clay-hall — no ;  but  hatred  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Falconer. 
There  have  been  quarrels  upon  quarrels,  and  poor  Lady 
Trant  in  the  middle  of  them,  unable  to  get  out — and 
John  Clay  swearing  he  is  not  to  be  taken  in — and  Miss 
Falconer  buffeting  Lady  Trant  with  the  willow  he  left 
on  her  brows — and  Mrs.  Falconer  smiling  through  the 
whole,  and  keeping  the  secret  which  everybody  knows  : 
in  short,  my  dear,  'tis  not  worth  explaining  to  you — but 
John  Clay  certainly  hopes  to  complete  the  mortification 
of  the  Falconers  by  giving  himself  to  you.  Besides, 
you  are  in  fashion.  Too  much  has  been  said  about  him 
— I'm  tired  of  him.  Write  your  answer,  my  dear — or 
I'm  to  write,  am  I T  Well,  give  me  some  gilt  paper — 
let  us  do  the  thing  properly."  Properly  the  thing  was 
done — the  letter  folded,  not  awkwardly,  was  sealed  and 
sent,  Caroline  delighted  with  Lady  Jane,  and  Lady  Jane 
delighted  with  herself. 

"  So  there's  an  end  of  that  matter,"  said  Lady  Jane. 
"  I  saw  how  it  would  be  long  ago ;  but  I  was  glad  you 
saw  nothing  of  it,  lest  you  should  not  have  let  it  come 
to  a  declaration.  A  refusal  is  always  creditable ;  there- 
fore, I  own,  I  should  have  been  mortified,  if  the  season 
had  passed  without  your  having  one  proposal.  But  now 


234  PATRONAGE. 

you  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of — you've  killed  your 
man — and  1  hope  and  trust  I  shall  live  to  see  you  kill 
another." 

Caroline  laughed,  but  said  she  was  glad  Lady  Jane 
was  not  one  of  those  who  count  refusals  as  so  many 
proofs  of  a  young  lady's  merit ;  for  her  own  part,  she 
acknowledged  she  was  inclined  to  think  that  they 
were  sometimes  proofs  rather  of  coquetry  and  du- 
plicity. 

Lady  Jane  hesitated,  and  said  she  did  not  see  this — 
she  could  not  agree  to  this. 

The  conversation  went  on,  till  her  ladyship  and  Caro- 
line came  to  a  complete  opposition  of  opinion  on  a  prin- 
ciple, which,  though  it  was  only  stated  in  general,  and 
in  the  abstract,  her  ladyship  defended  with  an  urgency, 
and  Caroline  resisted  with  a  steadiness,  which  are  seldom 
shown  about  any  merely  speculative  point,  unless  there 
is  some  secret  apprehension  of  their  being  soon  reduced 
to  practice. 

Lady  Jane  asserted  that  "a  woman  should  always  let 
an  attachment  come  to  a  declaration,  before  she  permits 
a  man  to  see  her  mind,  even  though  determined  upon  a 
refusal." 

Caroline  thought  this  would  be  using  the  man  ill. 

Lady  Jane  maintained  that  it  would  be  using  him  much 
worse  to  refuse  him  before  he  asked. 

"  But  without  refusing,"  Caroline  said,  that  "  a  gentle- 
man might  be  led  to  perceive  when  he  was  not  likely  to 
be  accepted,  and  thus  would  be  saved  the  pain  and  hu- 
miliation of  a  rejected  proposal." 

"  It  was  not  a  young  lady's  first  business  to  think  of 
that— her  first  duty  was  to  do  what  was  right  and  proper 
for  herself,"  Lady  Jane  said. 

"  Certainly ;  but  the  very  question  is,  what  is  right 
and  proper  1" 

"  To  give  a  distinct  answer  when  a  distinct  question 
is  asked,  neither  more  nor  less,"  said  Lady  Jane.  "  Caro- 
line, on  these  subjects  you  must  trust  to  one  who  knows 
the  world,  to  tell  you  the  opinion  of  the  world.  A  wo- 
man is  safe,  and  cannot  be  blamed  by  friend  or  foe,  if 
she  adhere  to  the  plain  rule  '  Stay  till  you  are  asked.' 
Till  a  gentleman  thinks  proper,  in  form,  to  declare  his 
attachment,  nothing  can  be  more  indelicate  than  for  a 
lady  to  see  it." 


PATRONAGE.  235 

"  Or,  in  some  cases,  more  disingenuous,  more  cruel, 
than  to  pretend  to  be  blind  to  it." 

"  Cruel ! — Cruel  is  a  word  of  the  last  century,  or  the 
century  before  the  last.  Cruelty  is  never  heard  of  now, 
my  dear — gentlemen's  hearts  don't  break  in  these  our 
days ;  or  suppose  an  odd  heart  should  break,  if  the  lady 
is  treating  it  according  to  rule,  she  is  not  to  blame. 
Why  did  not  the  proud  tongue  speak  1  Whatever  hap- 
pens, she  is  acquitted  by  the  world." 

"  And  by  her  own  conscience  ?  Surely  not,  if  she 
deceive,  and  injure  by  deception." 

Lady  Jane  warmly  repeated  that  she  knew  the  world 
— that  at  her  time  of  life  she  ought  to  know  the  world 
— and  that  she  was  certain  any  line  of  conduct  but  that 
which  she  had  pointed  out  would  expose  a  woman  to  the 
charge  of  indelicacy,  and  perhaps  of  impertinence. 

These  were  heavy  charges,  Caroline  felt ;  but  she 
thought  that,  when  not  deserved,  they  could  be  borne 
better  than  self-reproaches  for  the  want  of  candour  and 
truth. 

Lady  Jane  observed  that,  in  the  catalogue  of  female 
virtues,  delicacy  must  have  the  foremost  place. 

Caroline  made  a  distinction  between  real  delicacy  and 
punctilio. 

Lady  Jane  was  inclined  to  call  it  a  distinction  without 
a  difference.  She,  however,  more  prudently  said,  that 
punctilio  was  necessary  as  the  guard  of  female  deli- 
cacy. 

Undoubtedly;  but  the  greater  virtue  should  not  be 
sacrificed  to  the  less.  Truth  and  sincerity,  Caroline 
thought,  must  be  classed  among  the  highest  virtues  of 
woman,  as  well  as  of  man,  and  she  hoped  they  were 
perfectly  consistent  with  the  utmost  feminine  modesty. 
She  asked  whether,  after  all,  the  plea  of  delicacy  and 
punctilio  was  not  sometimes  used  to  conceal  the  real 
motives  1  Perhaps  ladies,  in  pretending  to  be  too 
delicate  to  see  a  gentleman's  sentiments,  were  often, 
in  fact,  gratifying  their  own  vanity,  and  urging  him 
to  that  declaration  which  was  to  complete  the  female 
triumph. 

Lady  Jane  grew  angry :  but  fearing  lest  Caroline 
should  perceive  that  she  had  some  particular  object  in 
view, — doubtful  whether  Caroline  knew,  or  did  not 
know,  her  aim, — and  further,  having  a  secret  hope  that, 
like  other  young  ladies  who  support  fine  sentiments 


236  PATRONAGE. 

about  love  and  generosity,  in  conversation,  she  might, 
when  it  came  to  the  test,  forget  them,  her  ladyship  urged 
her  opinion  no  further. 

Indeed  she  candidly  acknowledged,  that  much  might 
be  said  on  Caroline's  side  of  the  question, — and  there 
the  matter  ended. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  object  that  Lady  Jane  had  in  view  was  to  prevent 
Caroline  from  discouraging,  by  premature  candour,  a 
passion  which  she  saw  rising  in  the  heart  of  a  young 
nobleman. 

Lord  William , 

"  Well  pleased  to  'scape  from  flattery  to  wit," 

had  always  preferred  Lady  Jane  Granville's  company 
to  the  society  of  those  who  courted  him  more,  or  with 
less  delicacy.  Since  Miss  Caroline  Percy's  arrival  and 
appearance  in  town,  Lady  Jane  had,  to  do  her  justice, 
preserved  with  his  lordship  exactly  the  same  even  tenor 
of  conduct ;  whatever  her  wishes  might  be,  she  had  too 
much  proper  pride  to  compromise  her  own  or  her  young 
friend's  dignity.  Moreover,  her  ladyship  had  sense 
and  knowledge  of  character  sufficient  to  perceive  that 
such  a  sacrifice,  or  the  least  appearance  of  a  disposition 
to  make  it,  would  be  not  only  degrading,  but  vain :  it 
would,  she  knew,  for  ever  disgust  and  ruin  them  in  the 
opinion  of  a  man,  who  had  infinitely  more  penetration 
and  feeling  than  those  who  flattered  him  were  aware 
that  he  possessed. 

Lord  William  had  excellent  abilities,  knowledge,  and 
superior  qualities  of  every  sort,  all  depressed  by  exces- 
sive timidity,  to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  almost  useless 
to  himself  and  to  others.  Whenever  he  was,  either 
for  the  business  or  pleasure  of  life,  to  meet  or  mix  with 
numbers,  the  whole  man  was,  as  it  were,  snatched  from 
himself.  He  was  subject  to  that  nightmare  of  the  soul, 
who  seats  herself  upon  the  human  breast,  oppresses 
the  heart,  palsies  the  will,  and  raises  spectres  of  dis- 


PATRONAGE.  237 

may,  which  the  sufferer  combats  in  vain, — that  cruel 
enchantress,  who  hurls  her  spell  even  upon  childhood ; 
and,  when  she  makes  the  youth  her  victim,  pronounces, 
"  Henceforward  you  shall  never  appear  in  your  natural 
character:  innocent,  you  shall  look  guilty;  wise,  you 
shall  look  silly ;  never  shall  you  have  the  use  of  your 
natural  faculties.  That  which  you  wish  to  say,  you 
shall  not  say, — that  which  you  wish  to  do,  you  shall 
not  do :  you  shall  appear  reserved  when  you  are  enthu- 
siastic, insensible  when  your  heart  sinks  into  melting 
tenderness.  In  the  presence  of  those  you  most  wish 
to  please,  you  shall  be  most  awkward ;  and  when  ap- 
proached by  her  you  love,  you  shall  become  lifeless  as 
a  statue,  under  the  irresistible  spell  of  mauvaise  honle." 

Strange  that  France  should  give  a  name  to  that  malady 
of  the  mind  which  she  never  knew,  or  of  which  she 
knows  less  than  any  other  nation  upon  the  surface  of 
the  civilized  globe. 

Under  the  spell  of  mauvaise  honle  poor  Lord  William 

laboured — fast  bound — and  bound  the  faster  by  all 

the  efforts  made  for  his  relief  by  the  matrons  and  young 
damsels  who  crowded  round  him  continually.  They 
were  astonished  that  all  their  charms,  and  all  the  en- 
couragement they  held  out,  failed  to  free  this  young 
nobleman  from  his  excessive  timidity. 

"  What  a  pity  !  it  was  his  only  fault,  they  were  sure." 
— "  Ten  thousand  pities  he  could  not  be  made  to  speak, 
— they  were  certain  he  had  a  vast  deal  to  say." — "  And 
he  could  be  so  agreeable,  they  were  confident,  if  he 
would." — "  Most  extraordinary  that  a  man  of  his  rank 
and  fortune,  whom  every  creature  admired,  should  be 
so  timid." 

True ;  but  the  timid  Lord  William  all  the  time  es- 
teemed himself  more  than  these  ladies  who  affected  to 
admire  him.  Mixed  with  his  apparent  timidity  there 
was  a  secret  pride.  Conscious  of  the  difference  be- 
tween what  he  was,  and  what  he  appeared  to  be,  he  was 
at  once  mortified  and  provoked,  and  felt  disdain  and 
disgust  for  those  who  pretended  to  admire  his  outward 
man,  or  who  paid  to  his  fortune  that  tribute  which  he 
thought  due  to  his  merit.  With  some  few,  some  very 
few,  by  whom  he  was  appreciated,  his  pride  and  his 
timidity  were  equally  at  ease,  his  reserve  vanished  in 
an  astonishing  manner,  and  the  man  came  out  of  the 
marble.  Of  this  small  number  in  his  confidence  Lady 


238  PATRONAGE. 

Jane  Granville  was  one.  Even  from  his  boyish  years 
she  had  discerned  his  worth  and  value,  and  he  now  dis- 
tinguished her  by  his  grateful  and  constant  regard. 
But  Lady  Jane  Granville,  though  a  woman  of  consider- 
able talents,  could  not  be  a  judge  of  the  whole  of  his 
mind,  or  the  extent  of  his  powers :  her  talent  was  chiefly 
wit, — her  knowledge,  knowledge  of  the  world, — her 
mind  cultivated  but  slightly  and  for  embellishment — his 
deeply,  extensively,  and  with  large  views.  When  he 
became  acquainted  with  Miss  Caroline  Percy,  he  soon 
found  that  to  her  all  this  appeared,  and  by  her  was 
justly  valued.  His  assiduity  in  cultivating  his  friend 
Lady  Jane's  acquaintance  increased :  and  his  taste  for 
the  conversation  at  her  house  became  so  great,  that  he 
was  always  the  first,  and  usually  the  last>  at  her  parties. 
His  morning  visits  were  frequent  and  long ;  he  knew, 
by  instinct,  the  hours  when  the  two  ladies  were  disen- 
gaged, but  not  always  so  exactly  the  time  when  he 
ought  to  take  leave.  His  ear  never  informed  him  when 
Lady  Jane's  carriage  came  to  the  door,  nor  did  he 
always  hear  the  servant  announce  its  being  in  readi- 
ness. Her  ladyship  might  fidget  as  much  as  her  polite- 
ness would  permit  without  danger  of  its  being  observed. 
His  lordship  never  was  wakened  to  the  sense  of  its 
being  necessary  to  stir,  till  Miss  Caroline  Percy,  by 
some  strong  indication,  such  as  putting  away  her  draw- 
ing, and  the  books,  or  by  plainly  saying,  "  We  must  go 
out  now,"  made  it  manifest  to  him  that  he  must  depart. 
For  this  Caroline  was  regularly  reproved  afterward  by 
Lady  Jane, — but  she  never  found  that  it  gave  Lord  Wil- 
liam any  offence ;  nor  did  she  for  some  time  observe 
that  it  caused  him  much  disquietude.  He  seemed  to 
her  to  stay  from  mere  habitual  absence  of  mind,  and 
unwillingness  to  remove  from  a  retreat  where  he  was 
safe  and  comfortable,  to  some  place  where  he  was  liable 
to  be  annoyed  by  his  fair  persecutors.  That  he  liked 
her  company  and  conversation  she  did  not  affect  to 
deny,  nor  could  she  doubt  that  he  felt  for  her  esteem 
and  regard, — he  expressed  both,  and  he  was  not  a  man 
to  express  more  than  he  felt,  or  the  truth  of  whose  pro- 
fessions could  be  suspected ;  but  she  thought  that  his 
regard  for  her,  and  for  Lady  Jane,  were  both  of  the 
same  nature.  She  thought  him  a  friend,  not  a  lover. 
This  was  not  with  Caroline  a  mere  commonplace  phrase. 
She  believed  this  to  be  true ;  and  at  the  time  she 


PATRONAGE.  239 

believed  it,  she  was  right.    But  constantly  in  the  society 
of  an  amiable,  sensible,  and  beautiful  young  woman, 
with  a  man  of  feeling,  taste,  and  understanding,  whose 
heart  is  disengaged,  the  passage  from  friendship  to  love 
is  found  so  easy  and  rapid,  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible. 
And  to  this,  which  generally  happens  in  similar  circum- 
stances,   Lord   William  was   peculiarly   liable.      For 
though,  from  the  crowds  who  courted  his  attention,  it 
might  seem  that  his  liberty  of  choice  was  unlimited, 
yet,  in  fact,  his  power  of  choosing  was  contracted  and 
reduced  to  the  few  "  whom  choice  and  passion  both  ap- 
prove."   Among  these  few  his  fastidious  judgment,  and 
his  apprehensions  of  domestic   disquietude,  saw  fre- 
quently, and  sometimes  too  justly,  objection  to  the 
family  connexion  of  the  young  lady — some  want  of 
union  in  it — want  of  principle,  or  train  of  dissipation, 
which  he  dreaded,  or  some  folly  he  disliked:  so  that 
among  the  numbers  of  his  own  rank  who  sought  his 
alliance,  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  satisfy  himself,  even 
as  to  connexion, — still  more  difficult  to  satisfy  him  as 
to  love,  "  the  modern  fair  one's  jest,"  or,  what  is  worse, 
her    affectation.     His    lordship   was   well  aware   that 
among  the  numbers  of  young  ladies  who  were  ready  at 
a  moment's  warning  to  marry  him,  not  one  of  these 
would  love  him  for  his  own  sake.     Now  in  common 
with  Marmontel's  Alcibiades,  and  with  most  men  of 
rank  who  have  any  superiority  of  character,  Lord  Wil- 
liam had  an  anxious  desire  to  be  loved  for  his  own  sake ; 
for  though,  in  the  opinion  of  most  people  of  the  world, 
and  of  some  philosophers,  the  circumstances  of  rank 
and  fortune  form  a  part  of  personal  merit ;  yet  as  these 
are  not  indissolubly  associated  with  the  individual,  he 
rather  preferred  affection  and  esteem  arising  from  merit, 
of  which  he  could  not  be  deprived  by  any  revolution  of 
fate  or  turn  of  fancy.     If  he  was  ever  loved  by  Caro- 
line Percy,  it  would  be  for  his  own  sake ;  and  of  the 
constancy  of  her  affection,  if  once  obtained,  the  whole 
tenor  of  her  character  and  conduct  gave  him  the  most 
secure  pledge.     Her  education,  manners,  talents,  and 
beauty,  were  all  such  as  would  honour  and  grace  the 
highest  rank  of  life.     She  had  no  fortune, — but  that  was 
of  no  consequence  to  him,— he  was  likely  to  have  a 
princely  income :  he  had  no  debts ;  he  had  at  present 
all  that  satisfied  his  wishes,  and  that  could  enable  him 
to  live  married,  as  well  as  single,  in  a  manner  that 


240  PATRONAGE. 

suited  his  station.  His  friends,  eager  to  have  him 
marry,  and  almost  despairing  of  his  complying,  in  this 
point,  with  their  wishes,  left  him  entirely  at  liberty  in 
his  choice.  Reason  and  passion  both  determined  on 
that  choice,  just  about  the  time  when  English  Clay  pro- 
posed for  Caroline,  and  when  the  conversation  about 
declarations  and  refusals  had  passed  between  her  and 
Lady  Jane.  That  conversation,  instead  of  changing  or 
weakening  the  opinions  Caroline  then  expressed,  had 
confirmed  her  in  her  own  sentiments,  by  drawing  out 
more  fully  the  strength  of  the  reasons,  and  the  honour- 
able nature  of  the  feelings,  on  which  they  were  founded. 
Some  slight  circumstances,  such  as  she  could  scarcely 
state  in  words,  occurred  about  this  time,  which  first 

gave  her  the  idea,  that  Lord  William felt  for  her 

more  than  esteem.  The  tender  interest  he  showed 
one  day  when  she  had  a  slight  indisposition, — the  ex- 
treme alarm  he  expressed  one  night  when  there  occurred 
an  embarrassment  between  their  carriages  at  the  door 
of  the  opera-house,  by  which  Lady  Jane's  vis-a-vis  was 
nearly  overturned, — an  alarm  much  greater  than  Caro- 
line thought  the  occasion  required — was  succeeded  by 
anger  against  his  coachman,  so  much  more  violent  and 
vehement  than  the  error  or  offence  justified,  or  than 
his  lordship  had  ever  before  been  seen  to  show ;  these 
things,  which  in  a  man  of  gallantry  might  mean  nothing 
but  to  show  his  politeness,  from  Lord  William  seemed 
indicative  of  something  more.  Caroline  began  to  see 
that  the  friend  might  become  a  lover,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  questioned  her  own  heart.  She  thought 
highly  of  Lord  William's  abilities  and  character, — she 
saw,  as  she  had  once  said  to  Lady  Jane,  "  signs  which 
convinced  her  that  this  volcano,  covered  with  snow, 
and  often  enveloped  in  clouds,  would  at  some  time 
burst  forth  in  torrents  of  fire."  Little  indication  as 
Lord  William  now  showed  to  common  observers  of 
being  or  of  becoming  an  orator,  she  perceived  in  him 
the  soul  of  eloquence  ;  and  she  foresaw,  that  on  some 
great  occasion,  from  some  great  motive,  he  would  at 
once  vanquish  his  timidity,  and  burst  forth  upon  the 
senate.  She  felt  convinced  that  whether  eloquent  or 
silent,  speaking  or  acting,  in  public  or  private  life,  Lord 
William  would  in  every  circumstance  of  trial  fill  and 
sustain  the  character  of  an  upright,  honourable,  enlight- 
ened English  nobleman.  Notwithstanding  that  she 


PATRONAGE.  241 

thought  thus  highly  of  him,  Count  Altenberg,  in  her 
opinion,  far  surpassed  him  in  the  qualities  they  both 
possessed,  and  excelled  in  many  in  which  Lord  William 
was  deficient — in  manner  especially ;  and  manner  goes 
a  great  way  in  love,  even  with  people  of  the  best 
understanding.  Besides  all  the  advantages  of  manner, 
Count  Altenberg  had  far  superior  talents,  or  at  least  far 
superior  habits  of  conversation, — he  was  altogether  as 
estimable  and  more  agreeable  than  his  rival.  He  also 
had  had  the  advantage  of  finding  Caroline's  mind  disen- 
gaged,— he  had  cultivated  her  society  in  the  country, 
where  he  had  had  time  and  opportunity  to  develop  his 
own  character  and  hers, — in  one  word,  he  had  made 
the  first  impression  on  her  heart ;  and  such  an  impres- 
sion, once  made  on  a  heart  like  hers,  cannot  be  easily 
effaced.  Though  there  seemed  little  chance  of  his  re- 
turning to  claim  his  place  in  her  affections — though  she 
had  made  the  most  laudable  efforts  to  banish  him  from 
her  recollection,  yet 

"  En  songeant  qu'il  Taut  qu'on  Poublie 
On  s'en  souvient ;" 

and  now  she  found  that  not  only  all  others  compared 
with  him  were  indifferent  to  her,  but  that  any  whom 
she  was  forced  to  put  in  comparison  and  competi- 
tion with  Count  Altenberg  immediately  sunk  in  her 
opinion. 

Thus  distinctly  knowing  her  own  mind,  Caroline  was 
however  still  in  doubt  as  to  Lord  William's,  and  afraid 
of  mistaking  the  nature  of  his  sentiments.  She  well 
remembered  Lady  Jane's  cautions ;  and  though  she  was 
fully  resolved  to  spare  by  her  candour  the  suspense 
and  pain  which  coquetry  might  create  and  prolong, 
yet  it  was  necessary  to  be  certain  that  she  read  aright, 
and  therefore  to  wait  for  something  more  decisive  by 
which  to  interpret  his  meaning.  Lady  Jane  wisely 
forbore  all  observations  on  the  subject,  and  never 
said  or  looked  a  word  that  could  recall  the  memory  of 
her  former  debate.  With  the  most  scrupulous,  almost 
haughty  delicacy,  and  the  most  consummate  prudence, 
she  left  things  to  take  their  course,  secure  of  what  the 
end  would  be. 

One  night  Lady  Jane  and  Caroline  were  at  a  party. 
When  they  arrived,  they  descried  Lord  William  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  the  fair  and  fashionable,  looking  as 

VOL.  XV.— L* 


242  PATRONAGE. 

\  • 

if  he  was  suffering  martyrdom.  His  eye  caught  Caro- 
Kne  as  she  passed,  and  his  colour  changed.  The  lady 
next  him  put  up  her  glass  to  look  for  the  cause  of  that 
change-r-but  the  glass  was  put  down  again,  and  no 
apprehensions  excited.  By  degrees,  Lord  William 
worked  his  way  towards  Caroline — no,  not  towards 
Caroline,  but  to  Lady  Jane  Granville.  The  company 
near  her  were  talking  of  a  proposal  which  a  gentleman 
had  lately  made  for  a  celebrated  beauty — his  suit  had 
been  rejected.  Some  said  that  the  lady  must  have  seen 
that  he  was  attached  to  her,  and  that  she  had  been  to 
blame  in  allowing  him  so  long  to  pay  her  attentions,  if 
she  was  determined  to  refuse  him  at  last ;  others  de- 
fended the  lady,  saying  that  the  gentleman  had  never 
made  a  distinct  declaration,  and  that  therefore  the  lady 
was  quite  correct  in  not  appearing  to  know  that  his 
attentions  meant  any  thing  more  than  was  avowed. 
Lord  William  listened,  perfectly  silent,  and  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  some  anxiety.  Lady  Jane  Granville  sup- 
ported warmly  the  same  side  of  the  question  which  she 
had  taken  in  a  similar  conversation  with  Caroline. 

Miss  Percy  was  appealed  to  for  her  opinion  :  "  Would 
it  not  be  strange  indeed  if  a  lady  were  to  reject  a  gen- 
tleman before  she  was  asked  ?" 

Lord  William  with  increasing  anxiety  listened,  but 
dared  not  look  at  Caroline,  who,  with  becoming  mod- 
esty, but  with  firmness  in  what  she  believed  to  be  right, 
answered,  "  that  if  a  woman  saw  that  a  gentleman  loved 
her,  and  felt  that  she  could  not  return  his  attachment, 
she  might,  without  any  rude  or  premature  rejecting, 
simply  by  a  certain  ease  of  manner,  which  every  man 
of  sense  knows  how  to  interpret,  mark  the  difference 
between  esteem  and  tenderer  sentiments ;  and  might, 
by  convincing  him  that  there  was  no  chance  of  his  ob- 
taining any  further  interest  in  her  heart,  prevent  his 
ever  having  the  pain  of  a  decided  refusal." 

The  discussion  ended  here.  Fresh  company  joined 
them ;  other  subjects  were  started.  Lord  William  con- 
tinued silent :  he  did  not  take  any  share  in  any  conver- 
sation, but  was  so  absent  and  absorbed  hi  his  own 
thoughts,  that  several  times,  he  was  spoken  to  without 
his  being  able  to  give  a  plausible  answer — then  he  stood 
covered  with  confusion — confusion  increasing  from  the 
sense  that  it  was  observed,  and  could  not  be  conquered. 
The  company  moved  different  ways,  but  his  lordship 


PATRONAGE-  243 

continued  fixed  near  Caroline.  At  last  the  attention  of 
all  near  him  was  happily  diverted  and  drawn  away  from 
him  by  the  appearance  of  some  new  and  distinguished 
person.  He  seized  the  moment,  and  summoned  courage 
sufficient  to  address  some  slight  question  to  Caroline  • 
she  answered  him  with  an  ease  of  manner  which  he  felt 
to  be  unfavourable  to  his  wishes.  The  spell  was  upon 
him  and  he  could  not  articulate — a  dead  silence  might 
have  ensued,  but  that  Lady  Jane  happily  went  on,  say- 
ing something  about  pine-apple  ice.  Lord  William 
assented  implicitly,  without  knowing  to  what,  and  re- 
plied, "  Just  so — exactly  so — "  to  contradictory  asser- 
tions ;  and  if  he  had  been  asked  at  this  instant  whether 
what  he  was  eating  was  hot  or  cold,  he  could  not 
have  been  able  to  decide.  Lady  Jane  composedly  took 
a  biscuit,  and  enjoyed  the  passing  scene,  observing  that 
this  was  the  pleasantest  party  she  had  been  at  this 
season. 

Mrs.  Crabstock  came  up,  and  Lady  Jane,  with  wit  at  will, 
kept  the  pattern-lady  in  play  by  an  opportunely-recol- 
lected tale  of  scandal;  with  ears  delighted,  eyes  riveted, 
stood  Mrs.  Crabstock,  while  Lord  William,  again  relieved 
from  the  fear  of  observation,  breathed  once  more ;  and, 
partly  recovering  his  senses  through  the  mist  that  hung 
over  him,  looked  at  Caroline,  in  hopes  of  drawing  some 
encouraging  omen  from  her  countenance.  He  had  come 
to  this  party  determined  to  say  something  that  should 
explain  to  her  his  sentiments.  He  thought  he  could 
speak  to  her  better  in  a  crowd  than  alone.  Now  or 
never !  said  he  to  himself.  With  desperate  effort,  and 
with  an  oppressed  voice,  he  said — the  very  thing  he  did 
not  mean  to  say. 

"  Miss  Percy,  I  never  was  so  inclined  in  all  my  life  to 
quarrel  with  ease  of  manner  in  anybody  as  in  you." 
Then,  correcting  himself,  and  blushing  deeply,  he  added, 
"  I  don't  mean  that  I  don't  admire  your  ease  of  manner 
in  general — but — in  short,  it  is  impossible,  I  think,  that, 
with  your  penetration,  you  can  be  in  any  doubt  as  to 
my  sentiments.  If  I  thought — " 

He  stopped  short :  he  felt  as  if  his  life  hung  fynpn 
a  thread — as  if  the  first  look,  the  first  sound  of  her 
voice,  the  next  word  spoken,  must  decide  his  fate. 
longed,  yet  feared  to  see  that  look,  and  to  hear 
word. 

u  And  I  think  it  is  impossible  that,  with  your  lord- 


244  PATRONAGE. 

ship's  penetration,  you  should  mistake  mine,"  said  Car- 
oline. 

There  was  an  ingenuous  sweetness  in  her  look  and 
voice,  a  fear  of  giving  pain,  yet  a  resolution  to  be  sin- 
cere. Lord  William  felt  and  understood  it  all.  He 
saw  there  was  no  hope.  Caroline  heard  from  him  a  deep 
sigh.  With  great  and  painful  emotion,  in  the  most  calm 
voice  she  could  command,  but  in  the  kindest  tone,  she 
added,  "  For  the  sentiments  of  regard  and  esteem  your 
lordship  has  expressed  for  me,  believe  me  I  am  truly 
grateful." 

Mrs.  Crabstock  moved  towards  them,  and  Caroline 
paused. 

"  Are  you  to  be  at  Lady  Arrowsmith's  concert  to-mor- 
row, my  lord?"  said  Mrs.  Crabstock,  who  was  now  at 
liberty  to  ask  questions ;  for  even  scandal  will  not  hold 
curiosity  in  check  for  ever. 

"  Are  you  to  be  at  Lady  Arrowsmith's,  my  lord,  to- 
morrow night  ?"  repeated  she,  for  her  first  attack  was 
unheard. 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed,"  said  he,  starting  from  his  fit 
of  absence. 

Mrs.  Crabstock  persisted,  "  Were  you  at  the  opera 
last  Bright,  my  lord!" 

"  I  really,  ma'am,  do  not  recollect.' 

"  Bless  me !"  cried  Mrs.  Crabstock. 

And  "  Bless  me !"  cried  Lady  Jane  Granville.  "  We 
are  to  be  at  the  Duchess  of  Greenwich's  ball;  Car- 
oline, my  dear — time  for  us  to  move.  My  lord,  might 
I  trouble  your  lordship  to  ask  if  our  carriage  is  to  be 
had?" 

Lord  William,  before  she  had  completed  the  request, 
obeyed.  As  they  went  down  the  staircase,  Lady  Jane, 
laughing,  said,  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  as  impertinently 
curious  as  Mrs.  Crabstock — I  was  going  to  ask  your 
lordship  whether  you  are  engaged  to-morrow,  or  whether 
you  can  come  to  us — to  me  ?" 

"  Unhappily"  the  accent  on  the  word  showed  it  was 
no  expression  of  course, — "  unhappily  I  cannot — I  am 
engaged — I  thank  your  ladyship." 

Lady  Jane  looked  back  at  Caroline,  who  was  a  little 
behind  her. 

"  Though  I  could  not  recollect  in  time  to  tell  Mrs. 
Crabstock  where  1  was  last  night,  or  where  I  am  to  be 
to-morrow,"  continued  his  lordship,  making  an  effort  to 


PATRONAGE.  245 

smile,  *'  yet  I  can  satisfy  your  ladyship — I  shall  be  at 
Tunbridge." 

"  Tunbridge  !"  cried  Lady  Jane,  stopping  short,  and 
turning  to  Lord  William,  as  the  light  shone  full  on  his 
face  :  "  Tunbridge  at  this  season !" 

"  All  seasons  are  alike  to  me — all  seasons  and  their 
change,"  replied  Lord  William,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  answered — the  powers  of  mind  and  body  engrossed 
in  suppressing  emotion. 

They  had  now  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs — a 
shawl  of  Lady  Jane's  was  not  to  be  found ;  and  while 
the  servants  were  searching  for  it,  she  and  Caroline, 
followed  by  Lord  William,  went  into  one  of  the  supper- 
rooms,  which  was  open. 

"  To  Tunbridge  !"  repeated  Lady  Jane.  "  No,  my 
lord,  you  must  not  leave  us." 

"  What  is  there  to  prevent  me  V  said  Lord  William, 
hastily,  almost  harshly ;  for  though  at  the  time  he 
felt  her  kindness,  yet  irresistibly  under  the  power  of 
his  demon,  he  said  the  thing  he  did  not  mean ;  his  voice 
and  look  expressed  the  reverse  of  what  his  heart  felt. 

"  Nay,  if  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  your  lordship," 
said  Lady  Jane,  walking  away  with  dignity,  "  I  have  only 
to  wish  your  lordship  a  good  journey." 

"  I  would  stay,  if  I  could  see  any  thing  to  keep  me," 
said  Lord  William,  impelled,  contrary  to  his  better  judg- 
ment, to  appeal  once  more  to  Caroline's  countenance. 
Then  cursed  himself  for  his  weakness. 

Lady  Jane,  turning  back,  saw  his  lordship's  look; 
and  now,  convinced  that  Caroline  was  to  blame  for  all, 
reproached  herself  for  misinterpreting  his  words  and 
manner. 

"  Well,  my  lord,"  cried  she,  "  you  will  not  be  in  such 
haste  to  set  out  for  Tunbridge,  I  am  sure,  as  to  go  be- 
fore you  hear  from  me  in  the  morning.  Perhaps  I  may 
trouble  your  lordship  with  some  commands." 

He  bowed,  and  said  he  should  do  himself  the  honour 
of  waiting  her  ladyship's  commands.  She  passed  on 
quickly  towards  the  hall.  Lord  William  offered  his 
arm  to  Caroline. 

"  I  must  speak  to  you,  Miss  Percy,  and  have  but  a 
moment — " 

Caroline  walked  more  slowly 

"Thank  you,  madam — yes,  I  do  thank  you.  Much 
pain  you  have  given,  but  as  little  as  you  could.  Better 
L  2 


246  PATRONAGE. 

now  than  later.  Like  yourself— and  I  thank  you  for 
preserving  the  idea  of  excellence  in  my  mind  in  all  its 
integrity — in  all — I  shall  detain  you  but  a  moment — you 
are  not  impatient  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Caroline,  in  a  tremulous  voice ;  yet  for 
his  sake,  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  her  own  consistency, 
trying  to  suppress  emotion  which  she  thought  he  might 
misinterpret. 

"  Fear  not — I  shall  not  misinterpret — I  know  too 
well  what  love  is.  Speak  freely  of  my  sentiments  to 
Lady  Jane  when  I  am  gone — her  friendship  deserves  it 
from  me." 

He  stopped  speaking.  "  Stay,"  said  Caroline,  "  it 
may  give  your  noble  mind  some  ease  to  know  that  my 
heart  was  engaged  before  we  ever  met." 

He  was  silent.  It  was  the  silence  of  deep  feeling. 
They  came  within  view  of  the  servants — he  walked 
quietly  to  the  carriage — assisted  her  into  it — pressed 
her  hand — and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Farewell — for 
ever !" 

The  carriage-door  was  shut. 

"Where  to,  my  lady  ?"  said  the  footman." 

"  The  Duchess  of  Greenwich's,  or  home,  Caroline  1" 

"  Oh !  home,  if  I  may  choose,"  said  Caroline. 

"  Home  !"  said  Lady  Jane. 

And  the  moment  the  glass  was  up,  "  Caroline,  my 
dear,  tell  me  this  instant,  what  is  all  this  between  you 
and  Lord  William  ? — Is  it  as  I  hope  ? — or,  is  it  as  1  fear? 
— speak." 

Caroline  could  not — she  was  in  tears. 

"  What  have  you  done  1     If  you  have  said  any  thing 
irrevocable,  and  without  consulting  me,  I  never,  never 
will  forgive  you,  Caroline.     Speak,  at  all  events,  Caro 
line." 

Caroline  tried  to  obey  her  ladyship. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?     What  have  you  said  ?" 

"  I  have  said  the  truth — I  have  done,  I  hope,  what 
I  ought,"  said  Caroline ;  "  but  I  have  given  great 
pain — " 

Lady  Jane  now  perceiving  by  her  voice  that  she  was 
in  sorrow,  spoke  no  more  in  anger ;  but,  checking  her- 
self, and  changing  her  tone,  said,  "  It  is  not  irreme- 
diable, my  dear.  Whatever  pain  you  may  have  given, 
you  know  the  power  to  give  pleasure  is  still  in  your  own 


PATRONAGE.  247 

Caroline  sighed — "  Alas  !  no  madam,  it  is  not." 

"  Why  so,  my  love  1  He  will  not  leave  town  in  the 
morning  without  my  commands ;  and  I  am  at  your  com- 
mand. A  note,  a  line,  a  word,  will  set  all  to  rights." 

"  But  that  word  I  cannot  say." 

"  Then  let  me  say  it  for  you.  Trust  your  delicacy  to 
me — I  will  be  dignity  itself.  Can  you  doubt  it  1  Believe 
me,  much  as  I  wish  to  see  you  what  and  where  you  ought 
to  be  in  society,  I  would  not — there  it  is,  begging  Lady 
Frances  Arlington's  pardon,  that  Mrs.  Falconer  and  I 
differ  in  character  essentially,  and  de  fond  en  comble.  I 
would  never  yield  a  point  of  real  delicacy  ;  I  would  not 
descend  a  thousandth  part  of  a  degree  from  proper  dig- 
nity, to  make  you — any  more  than  to  make  myself — a 
princess.  And  now,  without  reserve,  open  your  heart, 
and  tell  me  what  you  wish  to  have  done  or  said." 

"Nothing,  my  dear  Lady  Jane." 

"  Nothing!  my  dear  Caroline." 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say — I  have  said  all  I  can  say." 

The  carriage  stopped  at  their  own  door. 

"  We  are  all  in  the  dark,"  said  Lady  Jane,  "  when  I 
have  more  light,  I  shall  be  able  better  to  tell  what  we 
are  about." 

"  Now  I  can  see  as  well  as  hear,"  continued  she,  as 
her  woman  met  her  with  lights.  "  Keppel,  you  may  go 
to  bed  ;  we  shall  not  want  you  to-night." 

"  Now,  Caroline,  take  care  :  remember  your  counte- 
nance is  open  to  me,  if  not  your  heart." 

"  Both,  both  are  open  to  you,  my  dear  friend  !"  cried 
Caroline.  "  And  Lord  William,  who  said  you  deserved 
it  from  him,  desired  me  to  speak  as  freely  for  him  as  for 
myself." 

"  He's  a  noble  creature  !  There's  the  difference  be- 
tween reserve  of  character  and  reserve  of  manner — I 
always  said  so.  Go  on,  my  dear." 

Caroline  related  every  thing  that  had  passed ;  and 
Lady  Jane,  when  she  had  finished,  said,  "  A  couple  of 
children ! — But  a  couple  of  charming  children.  Now  I, 
that  have  common  sense,  must  set  it  all  to  rights,  and 
turn  no  prettily  into  yes." 

"  It  cannot  be  done,"  said  Caroline. 

"  Pardon  me,  solemn  fair  one,  it  can." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Lady  Jane,  it  must  not  be  done." 

"  Children  should  not  say  must"  cried  Lady  Jane,  in 
3  playful  tone  ;  for  never  did  she  feel  in  more  delightful 


248  PATRONAGE. 

spirits  than  this  moment,  when  all  her  hopes  for  Caroline, 
as  she  thought,  were  realized ;  "  and  to  complete  '  the 
pleasing  history?  no  obstacle  remained,"  she  said,  "  but 
the  Chinese  mother-of-pearl  curtain  of  etiquette  to  be 
withdrawn,  by  a  dexterous  delicate  hand,  from  between 
Shuey-Ping-Sin  and  her  lover."  Lady  Jane,  late  as  it 
was  at  night,  took  up  a  pen  to  write  a  note  to  Lord 
William. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  may  I  ask,  my  dear 
madam1?"  cried  Caroline. 

"  My  dear  madam,  I  am  going  my  own  way— let  me 
alone." 

"  But  if  you  mean  to  write  for  me — " 

"  For  you ! — not  at  all — for  myself.  I  beg  to  see  Lord 
William  in  the  morning,  to  trouble  him  with  my  com- 
mands." 

"  But  seriously,  my  dear  Lady  Jane,  do  not  give  him 
unnecessary  pain — for  my  mind  is  decided." 

"  So  every  young  lady  says — it  is  a  ruled  case— for 
the  first  three  days."  Lady  Jane  wrote  on  as  fast  as  she 
could. 

"  My  dear  Lady  Jane,"  cried  Caroline,  stopping  her 
ladyship's  hand,  "  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  So,  then,"  cried  Lady  Jane,  impatiently,  "  you  will 
not  trust  me — you  will  not  open  your  heart  to  me 
Caroline  V 

"  I  do — I  have  trusted  you  entirely,  my  dear  friend 
My  heart  I  opened  to  you  long  ago." 

A  dead  pause — and  blank  consternation  in  Lady  Jane's 
countenance. 

"  But  surely  since  then  it  must  have  changed  V 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  But  it  will  change :  let  Lord  William  try  to  change 
it." 

Caroline  shook  her  head.    "  It  will  not — I  cannot." 

"  And  you  won't  do  this,  when  I  ask  it  as  a  favour  for 
my  friend,  my  particular  friend  V 

"  Excuse  me,  dear,  kind  Lady  Jane  :  I  know  you  wish 
only  my  happiness,  but  this  would  make  me  unhappy. 
It  is  the  only  thing  you  could  ask  with  which  I  would 
not  comply." 

"  Then  I'll  never  ask  any  thing  else  while  I  live  from 
you  Miss  Percy,"  cried  Lady  Jane,  rising  and  throwing 
her  pen  from  her.  "  You  are  resolved  to  throw  your 
happiness  from  you — do  so.  Wish  your  happiness  ! — 


PATRONAGE.  249 

yes,  I  have  wished  it  anxiously — ardently !  but  now  I 
have  done  :  you  are  determined  to  be  perverse  and  phi- 
losophical. Good  night  to  you." 

Lady  Jane  snatched  up  her  candle,  and  in  haste  retired. 
Caroline,  sensible  that  all  her  ladyship's  anger  at  this 
moment  arose  from  warm  affection,  was  the  more  sorry 
to  have  occasioned  it,  and  to  feel  that  she  could  not,  by 
yielding,  allay  it  instantly. — A  sleepless  night. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Keppel,  half-dressed  and  not 
half  awake,  came,  with  her  ladyship's  love,  and  begged 
to  speak  a  word  to  Miss  Percy. 

"  Love .'"  repeated  Caroline,  as  she  went  to  Lady 
Jane's  apartment :  "  how  kind  she  is !" 

"  My  dear,  you  have  not  slept,  I  see — nor  I  neither ; 
but  I  am  sure  you  have  forgiven  my  hastiness ;"  said 
Lady  Jane,  raising  herself  on  her  pillow. 

Caroline  kissed  her  affectionately. 

"  And  let  these  tears,  my  dearest  Caroline,"  continued 
Lady  Jane,  "  be  converted  into  tears  of  joy :  for  my 
sake — for  your  whole  family — for  your  own  sake,  my 
sweet  girl,  be  advised,  and  don't  throw  away  your  hap- 
piness for  life.  Here's  a  note  from  Lord  William — he 
waits  my  commands — that's  all.  Let  me  only  desire  to 
see  him." 

"  On  my  account  ?  I  cannot,"  said  Caroline — the 
tears  streaming  down  her  face,  though  she  spoke  calmly. 

"  Then  it  is  your  pride  to  refuse  the  man  for  whom 
every  other  young  woman  is  sighing." 

"  No,  believe  me  that  1  do  not  act  from  pride :  I  feel 
none — I  have  no  reason  to  feel  any." 

"  No  reason  to  feel  pride !  Don't  you  know — yes,  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  this  is  the  man  of  men — the 
man  on  whom  every  mother's — every  daughter's  eye  is 
fixed — the  first  unmarried  nobleman  now  in  England—- 
the prize  of  prizes.  The  most  excellent  man,  you  allow, 
and  universally  allowed  to  be  the  most  agreeable." 

"  But  if  he  be  not  so  to  me  ?"  said  Caroline. 

"That  can  only  be  because — you  are  conscious  of  the 
cause,  Caroline — it  is  your  own  fault." 

"  And  therefore  I  said,  that  I  felt  I  had  no  reason  to 
be  proud,"  said  Caroline. 

"  Then  have  reason  to  be  proud  !  conquer  this  weak- 
ness, and  then  you  may  have  cause  to  be  proud.  You 
pique  yourself  on  being  reasonable :  is  it  reasonable  to 


250  PATRONAGE. 

leave  your  affections  in  the  possession  of  a  man,  of 
•whom,  in  all  human  probability,  you  will  never  hear 
more  ?" 

"  Too  probable,"  said  Caroline. 

"  And  will  you,  you,  Caroline  Percy,  like  Lady  Ange- 
lica Headingham,  leave  your  heart  at  the  mercy  of  a 
foreign  adventurer  ?" 

"Oh!  stop,  ma'am,"  cried  Caroline,  putting  her  hand 
before  Lady  Jane's  mouth :  "  don't  say  that  word — any 
thing  else  I  could  bear.  But  if  you  knew  him,  educa- 
tion, character,  manners — no,  you  would  not  be  so 
unjust." 

"  You  know  you  told  me  you  were  sensible  you  ought 
not  to  indulge  such  a  weakness,  Caroline  V 

"  I  did — I  am  sensible  of  it — oh !  you  see  I  am  ;  and 
my  best — my  very  best  have  I  done  to  drive  him  from 
my  memory  ;  and  never,  till  I  was  forced  to  make  this 
comparison,  did  I  recollect — did  I  feel — Weak,  I  may  be," 
said  Caroline,  changing  from  great  agitation  to  perfect 
decision ;  "  but  wicked  I  will  not  be ;  I  will  never  marry 
one  man  and  love  another.  My  own  happiness  if  I 
sacrifice,  mine  be  the  consequence ;  but  I  will  never 
injure  the  happiness  of  another.  Do  not,  madam,  keep 
that  noble  heart,  this  excellent  Lord  William,  in  sus- 
pense— What  are  your  commands  1" 

"  My  commands  !"  cried  Lady  Jane,  raising  her  voice, 
trembling  with  anger.  "  Then  this  is  your  gratitude — 
this  your  generosity !" 

"  I  cannot  be  generous — I  must  be  just.  I  have  con- 
cealed nothing  from  Lord  William — he  knows  that  my 
heart  was  engaged  before  we  met." 

"  And  this  your  affection  for  all  your  friends — all  who 
wish  for  your  happiness  ?  You  would  sacrifice  nothing 
— nothing — no,  not  the  slightest  fancy,  disgraceful  fancy 
of  your  own,  to  please  them,  when  you  know  how 
ardently  too  they  wish  to  see  you  happily  married." 

"  To  marry  to  please  others,  against  my  own  inclina- 
tion, against  my  own  conscience,  must  be  weakness 
indeed — self-deception ;  for  if  my  friends  wish  my  hap- 
piness, and  I  make  myself  miserable,  ho  wean  that  please 
them  ?  Any  sacrifice  I  could  make,  except  that  of  prin- 
ciple, I  would ;  but  that  I  never  will  make,  nor  will  my 
friends,  nor  do  they,  desire  it — Forgive  me,  dear  Lady 
Jane," 


PATRONAGE.  251 

"  I  -never  will  forgive  you,"  interrupted  Lady  Jane, 
"  Ring ! — yes,  ring  the  befi — and  when  rung,  never  ex- 
pect my  forgiveness." 

It  must  be  done,  thought  Caroline,  sooner  or  later. 

"  My  compliments,  Keppel,  to  Lord  William,"  said 
Lady  Jane  ;  "  I  have  no  commands  to  trouble  him  with. 
Stay,  I  must  find  something — that  parcel  for  Mrs.  Bag- 
got,  Tunbridge — I  must  write — I  cannot  write." 

With  great  difficulty,  in  the  agitation  of  her  mind  and 
hand,  Lady  Jane  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  holding  the  note 
up,  looked  at  Caroline — a  last  appeal — in  vain. 

"  Take  it,  Keppel — I'm  sorry  Lord  William's  servant 
has  been  kept  waiting,"  cried  her  ladyship,  and  suddenly 
closed  the  curtain.  Caroline  retired  softly,  hoping  that 
Lady  Jane  might  sleep,  and  sleep  off  her  anger ;  but  no 
— the  morning  passed — the  day  passed — and  the  sun 
went  down  upon  her  wrath.  At  night  she  would  not, 
she  could  not,  go  out  anywhere.  Caroline  alone  with 
her,  endured  a  terrible  tete-a-tete.  Lady  Jane  never 
spoke.  Caroline  tried  all  she  could,  by  affectionate  kind- 
ness of  look  and  voice,  and  by  contrite  gentleness,  to 
sooth  her  perturbed  spirit.  Lady  Jane's  anger  admitted 
of  no  alleviation :  her  disappointment  increased  the 
more  she  reflected,  and  the  more  she  thought  of  what 
others  would  think,  if  they  could  know  it.  And  that 
they  did  not  know,  might  never  know  it  (for  Lady  Jane 
was  too  honourable  to  betray  Lord  William's  secret) 
was  an  additional  mortification.  It  was  not  till  after 
ninety-six  hours  that  Caroline  perceived  in  her  ladyship 
any  change  for  the  better.  The  first  favourable  symp- 
tom was  her  giving  vent  to  her  natural  feelings  in  the 
following  broken  sentences :  "  After  all  my  pains ! 
When  I  was  just  thinking  of  writing  to  your  father — 
when  I  might  have  carried  you  home  in  triumph,  Lady 
William  !  A  duke  in  all  human  probability — a  duchess 
— absolutely  a  duchess  you  might  have  been  !  And  such 
a  well-informed — such  an  amiable  man  ! — every  thing 
your  own  family  could  have  wished.  And  Rosamond ! 
— Ah  !  poor  Rosamond — Rosamond,  you  little  know  ! — 
And  nobody  will  ever  know — no  creature  will  ever  be 
a  bit  the  wiser.  If  you  would  have  let  him  even  come 
to  a  declaration — properly,  decently  to  a  declaration — 
let  him  attend  you  in  public  once  or  twice,  your  declared 
admirer — what  harm  could  it  possibly  have  done  him, 
you,  or  anybody  *  Then  there  would  have  been  some 


252  PATRONAGE. 

credit,  at  least — and  some  comfort  to  me.  But  now,  at 
the  end  of  the  campaign,  just  where  we  were  before  ! 
The  season  over,  under  Lady  Jane  Granville's  chape- 
ronage,  the  beautiful  Miss  Caroline  Percy  has  received 
one  proposal  and  a  quarter !  No,  while  I  live,  I  will 
never  forgive  it." 


END  OP  VOL.  xv. 


o 

m 


Harper's  Stereotype  Edition.  . 


TALES  AND  NOVELS 


BY 


MARIA  EDGEWORTH. 


EIGHTEEN     VOLUMES     BOUND     IN     NINE. 


VOL.   XVI. 


CONTAINING 

PATRONAGE 

AND 

COMIC    DRAMAS 


NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  J.  &  3.  HARPER, 

NO.    82    CLIFF-STKEET. 

AND   SOLD  BY  THK   PRINCIPAL   BOOKSELLERS   THROUGHOUT 
THB    UNITED   STATICS. 

1833. 


CONCLUSION  OF 

PATRONAGE; 

AND 

COMIC  DRAMAS. 


PATRONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

No  less  an  event  than  Alfred's  marriage,  no  event 
calling  less  imperatively  upon  her  feelings,  could  have 
recovered  Lady  Jane's  sympathy  for  Caroline.  But 
Alfred  Percy,  who  had  been  the  restorer  of  her  fortune, 
her  friend  in  adversity,  what  pain  it  would  give  him  to 
find  her,  at  the  moment  when  he  might  expect  her  con- 
gratulations, quarrelling  with  his  sister — that  sister,  too, 
who  had  left  her  home  where  she  was  so  happy,  and 
Hungerford  Castle  where  she  was  adored,  on  purpose 
to  tend  Lady  Jane  in  sickness  and  obscurity ! 

Without  being  put  exactly  into  these  words,  or,  per- 
haps, into  any  words,  thoughts  such  as  these,  with  feel- 
ings of  gratitude  and  affection,  revived  for  Caroline  in 
Lady  Jane's  mind  the  moment  she  heard  of  Alfred's 
intended  marriage. 

"Good  young  man! — Excellent  friend! — Well,  tell 
me  all  about  it,  my  dear.'''1 

It  was  the  first  time  that  her  ladyship  had  said  my  dear 
to  Caroline  since  the  day  of  the  fatal  refusal. 

Caroline  was  touched  by  this  word  of  reconciliation ; 
and  the  tears  it  brought  into  her  eyes  completely 
overcame  Lady  Jane,  who  hastily  wiped  her  own. 

"  So,  my  dear  Caroline — where  were  we  ?  Tell  me 
about  your  brother's  marriage — when  is  it  to  be  *  How 
has  it  been  brought  about  T  The  last  I  heard  of  the 
Leicesters  was  the  good  dean's  death — I  remember  pity- 
ing them  very  much.  Were  they  not  left  in  straitened 
circumstances,  too  ?  Will  Alfred  have  any  fortune  with 
Miss  Leicester  ?  Tell  me  every  thing — read  me  his 
letters." 

To  go  back  to  Dr.  Leicester's  death.  For  some 
months  his  preferments  were  kept  in  abeyance.  Many 


6  PATRONAGE. 

were  named,  or  thought  of,  as  likely  to  succeed  him. 
The  deanery  was  in  the  gift  of  the  crown,  and  as  it  was 
imagined  that  the  vicarage  was  also  at  the  disposal  of 
government,  applications  had  poured  in  on  all  sides,  for 
friends  and  friends'  friends,  to  the  remotest  link  of  the 
supporters  of  ministry.  But — to  use  their  own  elegant 
phrase — the  hands  of  government  were  tied. 

It  seems  that  in  consequence  of  some  parliamentary 
interest,  formerly  given  opportunely,  and  in  considera- 
tion of  certain  arrangements  in  his  diocess,  to  serve 
persons  whom  ministers  were  obliged  to  oblige,  a  prom- 
ise had  long  ago  been  given  to  Bishop  Clay  that  his 
recommendation  to  the  deanery  should  be  accepted  on 
the  next  vacancy.  The  bishop,  who  had  promised  the 
living  to  his  sister's  husband,  now  presented  it  to  Mr. 
Buckhurst  Falconer,  with  the  important  addition  of  Dr. 
Leicester's  deanery. 

To  become  a  dean  was  once  the  height  of  Buckhurst'* 
ambition,  that  for  which  in  a  moment  of  elation  he 
prayed,  scarcely  hoping  that  his  wishes  would  ever  be 
fulfilled :  yet  now  that  his  wish  was  accomplished,  and 
that  he  had  attained  this  height  of  his  ambition,  was  he 
happy?  No! — far  from  it;  farther  than  ever.  How 
could  he  be  happy — dissatisfied  with  his  conduct,  and 
detesting  his  wife  ?  In  the  very  act  of  selling  himself 
to  this  beldam,  he  abhorred  his  own  meanness ;  but  he 
did  not  know  how  much  reason  he  should  have  to  repent 
till  the  deed  was  done.  It  was  done  in  a  hurry,  with  all 
the  precipitation  of  a  man  who  hates  himself  for  what 
he  feels  forced  to  do.  Unused  to  bargain  and  sale  in 
any  way,  in  marriage  never  having  thought  of  it  before, 
Buckhurst  did  not  take  all  precautions  necessary  to 
make  his  sacrifice  answer  his  own  purpose.  He  could 
not  conceive  the  avaricious  temper  and  habits  of  his 
lady,  till  he  was  hers  past  redemption.  Whatever  ac- 
cession of  income  he  obtained  from  his  marriage  he 
lived  up  to ;  immediately,  his  establishment,  his  expenses 
surpassed  his  revenue.  His  wife  would  not  pay  or  ad-. 
vance  a  shilling  beyond  her  stipulated  quota  to  their 
domestic  expenses.  He  could  not  bear  the  parsimonious 
manner  in  which  she  would  have  had  him  live,  or  the 
shabby  style  in  which  she  received  his  friends.  He  was 
more  profuse  in  proportion  as  she  was  more  niggardly ; 
and  while  she  scolded  and  grudged  every  penny  she 
paid,  he  ran  in  debt  magnanimously  for  hundreds.  When 


PATRONAGE.  7 

the  living  and  the  deanery  came  into  his  possession,  the 
second  year's  fruits  had  been  eaten  beforehand.  Money 
he  must  have,  and  money  his  wife  would  not  give — but 
a  litigious  agent  suggested  to  him  a  plan  for  raising  it, 
by  demanding  a  considerable  sum  from  the  executors 
of  the  late  Dr.  Leicester,  for  what  is  called  dilapidation. 
The  parsonage-house  seemed  to  be  in  good  repair ;  but 
to  make  out  charges  of  dilapidation  was  not  difficult  to 
those  who  understood  the  business — and  fifteen  hundred 
pounds'was  the  charge  presently  made  out  against  the 
executors  of  the  late  incumbent.  It  was  invidious,  it 
was  odious  for  the  new  vicar,  in  the  face  of  his  parish- 
ioners, of  all  those  who  loved  and  respected  his  prede- 
cessor, to  begin  by  making  such  a  demand — especially 
as  it  was  well  known  that  the  late  dean  had  not  saved 
any  of  the  income  of  his  preferment,  but  had  disposed 
of  it  among  his  parishioners  as  a  steward  for  the  poor. 
He  had  left  his  family  in  narrow  circumstances.  They 
were  proud  of  his  virtues,  and  not  ashamed  of  the  con- 
sequences. With  dignity  and  ease  they  retrenched 
their  expenses ;  and  after  having  lived  as  became  the 
family  of  a  dignitary  of  the  church,  on  quitting  the  par- 
sonage, the  widow  and  her  niece  retired  to  a  small  hab- 
itation suited  to  their  altered  circumstances,  and  lived 
with  respectable  and  respected  economy.  The  charge 
brought  against  them  by  the  new  dean  was  an  unex- 
pected blow.  It  was  an  extortion  to  which  Mrs.  Leices- 
ter would  not  submit — could  not  without  injury  to  her 
niece,  from  whose  fortune  the  sum  claimed,  if  yielded, 
must  be  deducted. 

Alfred  Percy,  from  the  first  moment  of  their  distress, 
from  the  time  of  good  Dr.  Leicester's  death,  had  been 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Leicester;  and  by 
the  most  affectionate  letters,  and,  whenever  he  could 
get  away  from  London,  by  his  visits  to  her  and  to  his 
Sophia,  had  proved  the  warmth  and  constancy  of  his 
attachment.  Some  mouths  had  now  passed — he  urged 
his  suit,  and  besought  Sophia  no  longer  to  delay  his 
happiness.  Mrs.  Leicester  wished  that  her  niece  should 
now  give  herself  a  protector  and  friend,  who  might  con- 
sole her  for  the  uncle  she  had  lost.  It  was  at  this  period 
the  dilapidation  charge  was  made.  Mrs.  Leicester  laid 
the  whole  statement  before  Alfred,  declaring  that  for 
his  sake,  as  well  as  for  her  niece's,  she  was  resolute  to 
defend  herself  against  injustice.  Alfred  could  scarcely 


8  PATRONAGE. 

bring  himself  to  believe  that  Buckhurst  Falconer  had 
acted  in  the  manner  represented,  with  a  rapacity,  harsh- 
ness, and  cruelty  so  opposite  to  his  natural  disposition. 
Faults  Alfred  well  knew  that  Buckhurst  had ;  but  they 
were  all,  he  thought,  of  quite  a  different  sort  from  those 
of  which  he  now  stood  accused.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Alfred  was  extremely  averse  from  going  to  law  with  a 
man  who  was  his  relation,  for  whom  he  had  early  felt, 
and  still  retained,  a  considerable  regard :  yet  he  could 
not  stand  by  and  see  the  woman  he  loved  defrauded  of 
nearly  half  the  small  fortune  she  possessed.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  was  employed  as  a  professional  man,  and 
called  upon  to  act.  He  determined,  however,  before  he 
should,  as  a  last  resource,  expose  the  truth,  and  maintain 
the  right  in  a  court  of  justice,  previously  to  try  every 
means  of  conciliation  in  his  power.  To  all  his  letters 
the  new  dean  answered  evasively  and  unsatisfactorily, 
by  referring  him  to  his  attorney,  into  whose  hands  he 
said  he  had  put  the  business,  and  he  knew  and  wished 
to  hear  nothing  more  about  it.  The  attorney,  Solicitor 
Sharpe,  was  impracticable — Alfred  resolved  to  see  the 
dean  himself;  and  this,  after  much  difficulty,  he  at  length 
effected.  He  found  the  dean  and  his  lady  tete-a-tete. 
Their  raised  voices  suddenly  stopped  short  as  he  entered. 
The  dean  gave  an  angry  look  at  his  servant  as  Alfred 
came  into  the  room. 

"  Your  servants,"  said  Alfred,  "  told  me  that  you  were 
not  at  home,  but  I  told  them  that  I  knew  the  dean  would 
be  at  home  to  an  old  friend." 

'*  You  are  very  good — (said  Buckhurst) — you  do  me  a 
great  deal  of  honour,"  said  the  dean. 

Two  different  manners  appeared  in  the  same  person : 
one  natural — belonging  to  his  former,  the  other  assumed, 
proper,  as  he  thought,  for  his  present  self,  or  rather  for 
his  present  situation. 

"  Won't  you  be  seated  ?  I  hope  all  our  friends — " 
Mrs.  Buckhurst,  or,  as  she  was  called,  Mrs.  Dean  Fal- 
coner, made  divers  motions  with  a  very  ugly  chin,  and 
stood  as  if  she  thought  there  ought  to  be  an  introduction. 
The  dean  knew  it,  but  being  ashamed  to  introduce  her, 
determined  against  it.  Alfred  stood  in  suspense,  wait- 
ing their  mutual  pleasure. 

«'  Won't  you  sit  down,  sir  V  repeated  the  dean. 

Down  plumped  Mrs.  Falconer  directly,  and  taking  out 
her  spectacles,  as  if  to  shame  her  husband,  by  heighten- 


PATRONAGE.  9 

ing  the  contrast  of  youth  and  age,  deliberately  put  them 
on ;  then  drawing  her  table  nearer,  settled  herself  to 
her  work. 

Alfred,  who  saw  it  to  be  necessary,  determined  to 
use  his  best  address  to  conciliate  the  lady. 

"  Mr.  Dean,  you  have  never  yet  done  me  the  honour 
to  introduce  me  to  Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  I  thought — I  thought  we  had  met  before — since — 
Mrs.  Falconer,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy." 

The  lady  took  off  her  spectacles,  smiled,  and  adjusted 
herself,  evidently  with  an  intention  to  be  more  agree- 
able. Alfred  sat  down  by  her  work-table,  directed  his 
conversation  to  her,  and  soon  talked,  or  rather  induced 
her  to  talk  herself  into  fine  humour.  Presently  she 
retired  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  "  hoped  Mr.  Alfred  Percy 
had  no  intention  of  running  away — she  had  a  well-aired 
bed  to  offer  him." 

The  dean,  though  he  cordially  hated  his  lady,  was 
glad,  for  his  own  sake,  to  be  relieved  from  her  fits  of 
crossness ;  and  was  pleased  by  Alfred's  paying  attention 
to  her,  as  this  was  a  sort  of  respect  to  himself,  and 
what  he  seldom  met  with  from  those  young  men  who 
had  been  his  companions  before  his  marriage — they 
usually  treated  his  lady  with  a  neglect  or  ridicule  which 
reflected  certainly  upon  her  husband. 

Alfred  never  yet  had  touched  upon  his  business,  and 
Buckhurst  began  to  think  this  was  merely  a  friendly 
visit.  Upon  Alfred's  observing  some  alteration  which 
had  been  lately  made  in  the  room  in  which  they  were 
sitting,  the  dean  took  him  to  see  other  improvements  in 
the  house ;  in  pointing  out  these  and  all  the  conveniences 
and  elegancies  about  the  parsonage,  Buckhurst  totally 
forgot  the  dilapidation  suit ;  and  every  thing  he  showed 
and  said  tended  unawares  to  prove  that  the  house  was 
in  the  most  perfect  repair  and  best  condition  possible. 
Gradually,  whatever  solemnity  and  beneficed  pomp  there 
had  at  first  appeared  in  the  dean's  manner  wore  off,  or 
was  laid  aside ;  and,  except  his  being  somewhat  more 
corpulent  and  rubicund  than  in  early  years,  he  ap- 
peared like  the  original  Buckhurst.  His  gayety  of 
heart,  indeed,  was  gone,  but  some  sparkles  of  his  former 
spirits  remained. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  showing  Alfred  into  his  study,  "  here, 
as  our  good  friend  Mr.  Blank  said,  when  he  showed  us 
A3 


10  PATRONAGE. 

his  study, '  Here  is  where  I  read  all  daylong — quite  snug 
— and  nobody's  a  bit  the  wiser  for  it.'  " 

The  dean  seated  himself  in  his  comfortable  arm-chair. 

"  Try  that  chair,  Alfred,  excellent  for  sleeping  in  at 
one's  ease. 

'  To  not  the  cushion  and  soft  dean  invite.'  * 

"  Ah !"  said  Alfred,  "  often  have  I  sat  in  this  room 
with  my  excellent  friend  Dr.  Leicester !" 

The  new  dean's  countenance  suddenly  changed ;  but 
endeavouring  to  pass  it  off  with  a  jest,  he  said,  "  Ay, 
poor  good  old  Leicester,  he  sleeps  for  ever — that's  one 
comfort — to  me — if  not  to  you."  But  perceiving  that 
Alfred  continued  to  look  serious,  the  dean  added  some 
more  proper  reflections  in  a  tone  of  ecclesiastical  senti- 
ment, and  with  a  sigh  of  decorum — then  rose,  for  he 
smelt  that  the  dilapidation  suit  was  coming. 

"  Would  not  you  like,  Mr.  Percy,  to  wash  your  hands 
before  dinner  V 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Dean,  I  must  detain  you  a  moment 
to  speak  to  you  on  business." 

Black  as  Erebus  grew  the  face  of  the  dean — he  had 
no  resource  but  to  listen,  for  he  knew  it  would  come 
after  dinner,  if  it  did  not  come  now ;  and  it  was  as  well 
to  have  it  alone  in  the  study,  where  nobody  might  be  a 
bit  the  wiser. 

When  Alfred  had  stated  the  whole  of  what  he  had  to 
say,  which  he  did  in  as  few  and  strong  words  as  possi- 
ble, appealing  to  the  justice  and  feelings  of  Buckhurst, 
— to  the  fears  which  the  dean  must  have  of  being  ex- 
posed, and  ultimately  defeated  in  a  court  of  justice, — 
"  Mrs.  Leicester,"  concluded  he,  "  is  determined  to 
maintain  the  suit,  and  has  employed  me  to  carry  it  on 
for  her." 

"  I  should  very  little  have  expected,"  said  the  dean, 
"  that  Mr.  Alfred  Percy  would  have  been  employed  in 
euch  a  way  against  me." 

"  Still  less  should  I  have  expected  that  I  could  be 
called  upon  in  such  a  way  against  you,"  replied  Alfred. 
"  No  one  can  feel  it  more  than  I  do.  The  object  of 
my  present  visit  is  to  try  whether  some  accommodation 
may  not  be  made,  which  will  relieve  us  both  from  the 
necessity  of  going  to  law,  and  may  prevent  me  from 


PATRONAGE.  1 1 

being  driven  to  the  performance  of  this  most  painful 
professional  duty." 

"  Duty !  professional  duty  !"  repeated  Buckhurst : 
"  as  if  I  did  not  understand  all  those  cloak-words,  and 
know  how  easy  it  is  to  put  them  on  and  off  at  plea- 
sure !" 

"  To  some  it  may  be,  but  not  to  me,"  said  Alfred, 
calmly. 

Anger  started  into  Buckhurst's  countenance ;  but  con- 
scious how  inefficacious  it  would  be,  and  how  com- 
pletely he  had  laid  himself  open,  the  dean  answered, 
"  You  are  the  best  judge,  sir.  But  I  trust — though  I 
don't  pretend  to  understand  the  honour  of  lawyers — I 
trust,  as  a  gentleman,  you  will  not  take  advantage  against 
me  in  this  suit,  of  any  thing  my  openness  has  shown 
you  about  the  parsonage." 

."You  trust  rightly,  Mr.  Dean,"  replied  Alfred,  in  his 
turn,  with  a  look,  not  of  anger,  but  of  proud  indignation ; 
"  you  trust  rightly,  Mr.  Dean,  and  as  I  should  have  ex- 
pected that  one  who  has  had  opportunities  of  knowing 
me  so  well  ought  to  trust." 

"  That's  a  clear  answer,"  said  Buckhurst.  "  But  how 
could  I  tell] — so  much  jockeying  goes  on  in  every  pro- 
fession— how  could  1  tell  that  a  lawyer  would  be  more 
conscientious  than  another  man  *  But  now  you  assure 
me  of  it — 1  take  it  upon  your  word,  and  believe  it  in 
your  case.  About  the  accommodation — accommodation 
means  money,  does  not  it  * — frankly,  I  have  not  a  shil- 
ling. But  Mrs.  Falconer  is  all  accommodation.  Try 
what  you  can  do  with  her — and  by  the  way  you  began, 
I  should  hope  you  would  do  a  great  deal,"  added  he, 
laughing. 

Aiired  would  not  undertake  to  speak  to  his  lady, 
unless  the  dean  would  in  the  first  instance  make  some 
sacrifice.  He  represented  that  he  was  not  asking  for 
money,  but  for  a  relinquishment  of  a  claim,  which  he 
apprehended  not  to  be  justly  due  :  "  And  the  only  use  I 
shall  ever  make  of  what  you  have  shown  me  here  is  to 
press  upon  your  feelings,  as  I  do  at  this  moment,  the 
conviction  of  the  injustice  of  that  claim,  which  I  am 
persuaded  your  lawyers  only  instigated,  and  that  you 
will  abandon." 

Buckhurst  begged  him  not  to  be  persuaded  of  any 
such  thing.  The  instigation  of  an  attorney,  he,  laughing, 
said,  was  not  in  law  counted  the  instigation  of  the 


12  PATRONAGE. 

devil — at  law  no  man  talked  of  feelings.  In  matters  of 
property  judges  did  not  understand  them,  whatever 
figure  they  might  make  with  a  jury  in  criminal  cases — 
with  an  eloquent  advocate's  hand  on  his  breast. 

Alfred  let  Buckhurst  go  on  with  his  vain  wit  and  gay 
rhetoric  till  he  had  nothing  more  to  say,  knowing  that 
he  was  hiding  consciousness  of  unhandsome  conduct. 
Sticking  firmly  to  his  point,  Alfred  showed  that  his 
client,  though  gentle,  was  resolved,  and  that,  without 
Buckhurst  yielded,  law  must  take  its  course — that 
though  he  should  never  give  any  hint,  the  premises 
must  be  inspected,  and  disgrace  and  defeat  must 
follow. 

Forced  to  be  serious,  fretted  and  hurried,  for  the 
half-hour  bell  before  dinner  had  now  rung,  and  the 
dean's  stomach  began  to  know  canonical  hours,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  The  upshot  of  the  whole  business  is,  that 
Mr.  Alfred  Percy  is  in  love,  I  understand,  with  Miss 
Sophia  Leicester,  and  this  fifteen  hundred  pounds, 
which  he  pushes  me  to  the  bare  wall  to  relinquish, 
is  eventually,  as  part  of  her  fortune,  to  become  his. 
Would  it  not  have  been  as  fair  to  have  stated  this  at 
once  ?" 

"  No — because  it  would  not  have  been  the  truth." 

"  No ! — You  won't  deny  that  you  are  in  love  with 
Miss  Leicester1?" 

"  I  am  as  much  in  love  as  man  can  be  with  Miss  Lei- 
cester ;  but  her  fortune  is  nothing  to  me,  for  I  shall 
never  touch  it." 

"  Never  touch  it !  Does  the  aunt — the  widow — the 
cunning  widow,  refuse  consent  ?" 

"  Far  from  it :  the  aunt  is  all  the  aunt  of  Miss  Lei- 
cester should  be — all  the  widow  of  Dr.  Leicester  ought 
to  be.  But  her  circumstances  are  not  what  they  ought 
to  be  ;  and  by  the  liberality  of  a  friend,  who  lends  me 
a  house  rent  free,  and  by  the  resources  of  my  profes- 
sion, I  am  better  able  than  Mrs.  Leicester  is  to  spare 
fifteen  hundred  pounds ;  therefore,  in  the  recovery  of 
this  money  I  have  no  personal  interest  at  present.  I 
shall  never  receive  it  from  her." 

"  Noble !  noble ! — just  what  I  could  have  done  myself 
— once !  What  a  contrast !" 

Buckhurst  laid  his  head  down  upon  his  arms  flat  on 
the  table,  and  remained  for  some  moments  silent — then 
starting  upright,  "  I'll  never  claim  a  penny  from  her— 


PATRONAGE.  13 

ni  give  it  all  up  to  you !  I  will,  if  I  sell  my  band  for  it. 
by  Jove !" 

"  Oh !  what  has  your  father  to  answer  for,  who  forced 
you  into  the  church!"  thought  Alfred. 

"  My  dear  Buckhurst,"  said  he,  "  my  dear  dean—" 

"  Call  me  Buckhurst,  if  you  love  me." 

"  I  do  love  you,  it  is  impossible  to  help  it,  in  spite 
of—" 

"  All  my  faults — say  it  out — say  it  out — in  spite  of 
your  conscience,"  added  Buckhurst,  trying  to  laugh. 

"Not  in  spite  of  my  conscience,  but  in  favour  of 
yonrs,"  said  Alfred ;  "  against  whose  better  dictates  you 
have  been  compelled  all  your  life  to  act." 

"  I  have  so,  but  that's  over.  What  remains  to  be  done 
at  present?  I  am  in  real  distress  for  five  hundred 
pounds.  Apropos  to  your  being  engaged  in  this  dilapi- 
dation suit,  you  can  speak  to  Mrs.  Falconer  about  it. 
Tell  her  I  have  given  up  the  thing,  and  see  what  she 
will  do." 

Alfred  promised  he  would  speak  to  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  And,  Alfred,  when  you  see  your  sister  Caroline,  tell 
her  that  I  am  not  in  one  sense  such  a  wretch — quite,  as 
she  thinks  me.  But  tell  her  that  I  am  yet  a  greater 
wretch — infinitely  more  miserable  than  she,  I  hope,  can 
conceive — beyond  redemption — beyond  endurance  mis- 
erable." He  turned  away  hastily  in  an  agony  of  mind. 
Alfred  shut  the  door  and  escaped,  scarcely  able  to  bear 
his  own  emotion. 

When  they  met  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Dean  Falconer  was 
an  altered  person — her  unseemly  morning  costume  and 
well-worn  shawl  being  cast  aside,  she  appeared  in 
bloom-coloured  gossamer  gauze  and  primrose  ribands, 
a  would-be  young  lady.  Nothing  of  that  curmudgeon 
look,  or  old  fairy  cast  of  face  and  figure,  to  which  he 
had  that  morning  been  introduced,  but  in  their  place 
smiles,  and  all  the  false  brilliancy  which  rouge  can 
give  to  the  eyes,  proclaimed  a  determination  to  be 
charming. 

The  dean  was  silent,  and  scarcely  ate  any  thing; 
though  the  dinner  was  excellent,  for  his  lady  was  skilled 
in  the  culinary  department,  and  in  favour  of  Alfred  had 
made  a  more  hospitable  display  than  she  usually  con- 
descended to  make  for  her  husband's  friends.  There 
were  no  other  guests,  except  a  young  lady,  companion 
to  Mrs.  Falconer.  Alfred  was  as  agreeable  and  enter- 


14  PATRONAGE. 

taining  as  circumstances  permitted ;  and  Mrs.  Buckhurst 
Falconer,  as  soon  as  she  got  out  of  the  dining-room, 
even  before  she  reached  the  drawing-room,  pronounced 
Mm  to  be  a  most  polite  and  accomplished  young  man, 
very  different  indeed  from  the  common  run,  or  the 
usual  style,  of  Mr.  Dean  Falconer's  dashing  bachelor 
beaux,  who  in  her  opinion  were  little  better  than  brute 
bears. 

At  coffee,  when  the  gentlemen  joined  the  ladies  in 
the  drawing-room,  as  Alfred  was  standing  beside  Mr*. 
Falconer,  meditating  how  and  when  to  speak  of  the 
object  of  his  visit,  she  cleared  the  ground  by  choosing 
the  topic  of  conversation,  which  at  last  fairly  drove 
her  husband  out  of  the  room.  She  judiciously,  mali- 
ciously, or  accidentally,  began  to  talk  of  the  proposal 
which  she  had  heard  a  near  relation  of  hers  had  not 
long  since  made  to  a  near  relation  of  Mr.  Alfred  Percy's 
— Mr.  Clay,  of  Clay-hall,  her  nephew,  had  proposed  for 
Mr.  Alfred's  sister,  Miss  Caroline  Percy.  She  was 
really  sorry  the  match  was  not  to  take  place,  for  she 
had  heard  a  very  high  character  of  the  young  lady  in 
every  way,  and  her  nephew  was  rich  enough  to  do  with- 
out fortune — not  but  what  that  would  be  very  accept- 
able to  all  men — especially  young  men,  who  are  now 
'mostly  all  for  money  instead  of  aU  for  love — except  in 
the  case  of  very  first-rate  extraordinary  beauty,  which 
therefore  making  a  woman  a  prey  just  as  much  one  way  as 
the  other,  might  be  deemed  a  misfortune  as  great,  though 
hardly  quite,  Mrs.  Buckhurst  said,  as  she  had  found  a 
great  fortune  in  her  own  particular  case.  The  involu- 
tion of  meaning  in  these  sentences  rendering  it  not 
easy  to  be  comprehended,  the  dean  stood  it  pretty  well, 
only  stirring  his  coffee,  and  observing  that  it  was  cold  ; 
but  when  his  lady  went  on  to  a  string  of  interrogatories 
about  Miss  Caroline  Percy — on  the  colour  of  her  eyes 
and  hair — size  of  her  mouth  and  nose — requiring,  in 
short,  a  complete  full-length  portrait  of  the  young  lady, 
poor  Buckhurst  set  down  his  cup,  and  pleading  business 
in  his  study,  left  the  field  open  to  Alfred. 

"  Near-sighted  glasses.  Do  you  never  use  them, 
Mr.  Percy !"  said  Mrs.  Dean  Falconer,  as  she  thought 
Alfred's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  spectacles,  which  lay  on 
the  table. 

No — he  never  used  them,  he  thanked  her :  he  was 
rather  far-sighted  than  short-sighted.  She  internally 


PATRONAGE.  15 

commended  his  politeness  in  not  taking  them  up  to 
verify  her  assertion,  and  put  them  into  her  pocket  to 
avoid  all  future  danger. 

He  saw  it  was  a  favourable  moment,  and  entered  at 
once  into  his  business — beginning  by  observing  that  the 
dean  was  much  out  of  spirits.  The  moment  money 
was  touched  upon,  the  curmudgeon  look  returned  upon 
the  lady ;  and  for  some  time  Alfred  had  great  difficulty 
in  making  himself  heard :  she  poured  forth  such  com- 
plaints against  the  extravagance  of  the  dean,  with  lists 
of  the  debts  she  had  paid,  the  sums  she  had  given,  and 
the  vow  she  had  made  never  to  go  beyond  the  weekly 
allowance  she  had  at  the  last  settlement  agreed  to  give 
her  husband. 

Alfred  pleaded  strongly  the  expense  of  law,  and  the 
certainty,  in  his  opinion,  of  ultimate  defeat;  with  the 
being  obliged  to  pay  all  the  costs,  which  would  fall  upon 
the  dean.  The  dean  was  willing  to  withdraw  his  claim 
— he  had  promised  to  do  so,  in  the  most  handsome 
manner ;  and  therefore,  Alfred  said,  he  felt  particularly 
anxious  that  he  should  not  be  distressed  for  five  hundred 
pounds,  a  sum  for  which  he  knew  Mr.  Falconer  was 
immediately  pressed.  He  appealed  to  Mrs.  Falcon- 
er's generosity.  He  had  been  desired  by  the  dean  to 
speak  to  her  on  the  subject,  otherwise  he  should  not 
have  presumed — and  it  was  as  a  professional  man,  and 
a  near  relation,  that  he  now  took  the  liberty :  this  was 
the  first  transaction  he  had  ever  had  with  her,  and  he 
hoped  he  should  leave  the  vicarage  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  her  generosity,  and  enabled  to  do  her  justice 
in  the  opinion  of  those  who  did  not  know  her. 

That  was  very  little  to  her,  she  bluntly  said, — she 
acted  only  up  to  her  own  notions,— she  lived  only  for 
herself. 

"And  for  her  husband."  Love,  Alfred  Percy  said, 
he  was  assured,  was  superior  to  money  in  her  opinion. 
"And  after  all,  my  dear  madam,  you  set  me  the 
example  of  frankness,  and  permit  me  to  speak  to  you 
without  reserve.  What  can  you,  who  have  no  reason, 
you  say,  to  be  pleased  with  either  of  your  nephews, 
do  better  with  your  money  than  spend  it  while  you 
live,  and  for  yourself,  in  securing  happiness  in  the 
gratitude  and  affection  of  a  husband,  who,  generous 
himself,  will  be  peculiarly  touched  and  attached  by 
generosity !" 


16  PATRONAGE. 

The  words  love,  generosity,  generous,  sounded  upon 
the  lady's  ear,  and  she  was  unwilling  to  lose  that  high 
opinion  which  she  imagined  Alfred  entertained  of  her 
sentiments  and  character.  Besides,  she  was  conscious 
that  he  was  in  fact  nearer  the  truth  than  all  the  world 
would  have  believed.  Avaricious  in  trifles,  and  par- 
simonious in  those  every  day  habits  which  brand  the 
reputation  immediately  with  the  fault  of  avarice,  this 
woman  was  one  of  those  misers  who  can  be  generous 
by  fits  and  starts,  and  who  have  been  known  to  give 
hundreds  of  pounds,  but  never  without  reluctance  would 
part  with  a  shilling. 

She  presented  the  dean,  her  husband,  with  an  order 
on  her  banker  for  the  money  he  wanted,  and  Alfred  had 
the  pleasure  of  leaving  his  unhappy  friend  better,  at  least, 
than  he  found  him.  He  rejoiced  in  having  compromised 
this  business  so  successfully,  and  in  thus  having  pre- 
vented the  litigation,  ill-will,  and  disgraceful  circum- 
stances, which,  without  his  interference,  must  have 
ensued. 

The  gratitude  of  Mrs.  Leicester  and  her  niece  was 
delightful.  The  aunt  urged  him  to  accept  what  he  had 
been  the  means  of  saving,  as  part  of  her  niece's  fortune ; 
but  this  he  absolutely  refused,  and  satisfied  Mrs.  Lei- 
cester's delicacy  by  explaining  that  he  could  not,  if  he 
would,  now  yield  to  her  entreaties,  as  he  had  actually 
obtained  the  money  from  poor  Buckhurst's  generous 
repentance,  upon  the  express  faith  that  he  had  no  private 
interest  in  the  accommodation. 

"  You  would  not,"  said  Alfred,  "  bring  me  under  the 
act  against  raising  money  upon  false  pretences  ?" 

What  Alfred  lost  in  money  he  gained  in  love.  His 
Sophja's  eyes  beamed  upon  him  with  delight.  The  day 
was  fixed  for  their  marriage,  and  at  Alfred's  suggestion, 
Mrs.  Leicester  consented,  painful  as  it  was,  in  some  re- 
spects, to  her  feelings,  that  they  should  be  married  by 
the  dean  in  the  parish  church. 

Alfred  brought  his  bride  to  town,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  established  in  their  own  house,  or  rather  in  that 
house  which  Mr.  Gresham  insisted  upon  their  calling 
their  own,  Lady  Jane  Granville  was  the  first  person  to 
offer  her  congratulations.  Alfred  begged  his  sister 
Caroline  from  Lady  Jane,  as  he  had  already  obtained  his 
father's  and  mother's  consent.  Lady. Jane  was  really 
fond  of  Caroline's  company,  and  had  forgiven  her,  as 


PATRONAGE.  17 

well  as  she  could  ;  yet  her  ladyship  had  no  longer  a  hope 
Of  being  of  use  to  her,  and  felt  that  even  if  any  other  offer 
were  to  occur — and  none  such  as  had  been  made  could 
ever  more  be  expected — it  would  lead  only  to  fresh  dis- 
appointment and  altercation ;  therefore  she,  with  the 
less  reluctance,  relinquished  Caroline  altogether. 

Caroline's  new  sister  had  been,  from  the  time  they 
were  first  acquainted,  her  friend,  and  she  rejoiced  in 
seeing  all  her  hopes  for  her  brother's  happiness  accom- 
plished by  this  marriage.  His  Sophia  had  those  habits 
of  independent  occupation  which  are  essential  to  the 
wife  of  a  professional  man,  and  which  enable  her  to 
spend  cheerfully  many  hours  alone,  or  at  least  without 
the  company  of  her  husband.  On  his  return  home  every 
evening,  he  was  sure  to  find  a  smiling  wife,  a  sympa- 
thizing friend,  a  cheerful  fireside.  She  had  musical  tal- 
ents— her  husband  was  fond  of  music ;  and  she  did  not 
lay  aside  the  accomplishments  which  had  charmed  the 
lover,  but  made  use  of  them  to  please  him  whom  she 
had  chosen  as  her  companion  for  life.  Her  voice,  her 
harp,  her  utmost  skill,  were  ready  at  any  moment ;  and 
she  found  far  more  delight  in  devoting  her  talents  to  him 
than  she  had  ever  felt  in  exhibiting  them  to  admiring 
auditors.  This  was  the  domestic  use  of  accomplish- 
ments to  which  Caroline  had  always  been  accustomed ; 
so  that  joining  in  her  new  sister's  occupations  and  en- 
deavours to  make  Alfred's  evenings  pass  pleasantly,  she 
felt  at  once  as  much  at  home  as  if  she  had  been  in  the 
country ;  for  the  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  domestic 
happiness  may  be  naturalized  in  a  capital  city. 

At  her  brother's  house,  Caroline  had  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  a  society  that  was  new  to  her,  that  of  the  pro- 
fessional men  of  the  first  eminence  both  in  law  and 
medicine,  the  men  of  science  and  of  literature  with 
whom  Alfred  and  Erasmus  had  been  for  years  assidu- 
ously cultivating  acquaintance.  They  were  now  happy 
to  meet  at  Alfred's  house,  for  they  liked  and  esteemed 
him,  and  they  found  his  wife  and  sister  sensible,  well- 
informed  women,  to  whom  their  conversation  was  of 
real  amusement  and  instruction;  and  who,  in  return, 
knew  how  to  enliven  their  leisure  hours  by  female 
sprightliness  and  elegance.  Caroline  now  saw  the  lite- 
rary and  scientific  world  to  the  best  advantage  :  not  the 
amateurs,  or  the  mere  show  people,  but  those  who,  really 
excelling  and  feeling  their  own  superiority,  had  too  much 


18  PATRONAGE.  9 

pride,  and  too  little  time  to  waste  upon  idle  flattery,  or 
what  to  them  were  stupid,  uninteresting  parties.  Those 
who  refused  to  go  to  Lady  Spilsbury's,  or  to  Lady  An- 
gelica Headingham's,  or  who  were  seen  there,  per- 
haps, once  or  twice  in  a  season  as  a  great  favour  and 
honour,  would  call  three  or  four  evenings  every  week  at 
Alfred's.  ,, 

The  first  hews,  the  first  hints  of  discoveries,  inven- 
tions, and  literary  projects,  she  heard  from  time  to  time 
discussed.  Those  men  of  talents  who  she  had  heard 
were  to  be  seen  at  conversaziones,  or  of  whom  she  had 
had  a  glimpse  in  fine  society,  now  appeared  in  a  new 
point  of  view,  and  to  the  best  advantage ;  without  those 
pretensions  and  rivalships  with  which  they  sometimes 
are  afflicted  in  public,  or  those  affectations  and  singu- 
larities which  they  often  are  supposed  to  assume,  to 
obtain  notoriety  among  persons  inferior  to  them  in  intel- 
lect and  superior  in  fashion.  Instead  of  playing,  as  they 
sometimes  did,  a  false  game  to  amuse  the  multitude, 
they  were  obliged  now  to  exert  their  real  skill,  and  play 
fair  with  one  another. 

Sir  James  Harrington  tells  us,  that  in  his  days  the 
courtiers,  who  played  at  divers  games  in  public,  had  a 
way  of  exciting  the  admiration  and  amazement  of  the 
commoner  sort  of  spectators,  by  producing  heaps  of 
golden  counters,  and  seeming  to  stake  immense  sums, 
when  all  the  time  they  had  previously  agreed  among  one 
another  that  each  guinea  should  stand  for  a  shilling,  or 
each  hundred  guineas  for  one :  so  that  in  fact  two  modes 
of  calculation  were  used  for  the  initiated  and  uninitiated ; 
and  this  exoteric  practice  goes  on  continually  to  this 
hour  among  literary  performers  in  the  intellectual  as 
well  as  among  courtiers  in  the  fashionable  world. 

Besides  the  pleasure  of  studying  celebrated  characters, 
and  persons  of  eminent  merit,  at  their  ease  and  at  her 
own,  Caroline  had  now  opportunities  of  seeing  most  of 
those  objects  of  rational  curiosity  which  with  Lady  Jane 
Granville  had  been  prohibited  as — mauvais  ton.  With 
men  of  sense  she  found  it  was  not  mauvais  ton  to  use 
her  eyes  for  the  purposes  of  instruction  or  entertain- 
ment. 

With  Mrs.  Alfred  Percy  she  saw  every  thing  in  the 
best  manner ;  in  the  company  of  well-informed  guides, 
who  were  able  to  point  out  what  was  essential  to  be 
observed ;  ready  to  explain  and  to  illustrate ;  to  procure 


PATRONAGE.  19 

for  them  all  those  privileges  and  advantages  as  specta- 
tors which  common  gazers  are  denied,  but  which 
liberal  and  enlightened  men  are  ever,  not  only  ready  to 
allow,  but  eager  to  procure  for  intelligent  unassuming 
females. 

Among  the  gentlemen  of  learning,  talents,  and  emi- 
nence in  Alfred's  own  profession,  whom  Caroline  had 
the  honour  of  seeing  at  her  brother's,  were  Mr.  Friend, 
the  friend  of  his  early  years  at  the  bar ;  and  that  great 
luminary  who  in  a  higher  orbit  had  cheered  and  guided 
him  in  his  ascent.  The  chief  justice  was  in  a  station, 
and  of  an  age,  where  praise  can  be  conferred  without 
impropriety,  and  without  hurting  the  feelings  of  delicacy 
or  pride.  He  knew  how  to  praise — a  difficult  art,  but  he 
excelled  in  it.  As  Caroline  once,  in  speaking  of  him, 
said,  "  Common  compliments,  compared  to  praise  from 
him,  are  as  common  coin  compared  to  a  medal  struck 
and  appropriated  for  the  occasion." 

About  this  time  Mr.  Temple  came  to  tell  Alfred  that 
a  ship  had  been  actually  ordered  to  be  in  readiness  to 
carry  him  on  his  intended  embassy ;  that  Mr.  Shaw  had 
recovered ;  that  Cunningham  Falconer  had  no  more  ex- 
cuses or  pretences  for  delay ;  despatches,  the  last  Lord 
Oldborough  said  he  should  ever  receive  from  him  as  en- 
voy, had  now  arrived,  and  Temple  was  to  have  set  out  im- 
mediately;  but  that  the  whole  embassy  had  been  delayed, 
because  Lord  Oldborough  had  received  a  letter  from 
Count  Altenberg,  giving  an  account  of  alarming  revolu- 
tionary symptoms,  which  had  appeared  in  the  capital,  and 
in  the  provinces,  in  the  dominions  of  his  sovereign.  Lord 
Oldborough  had  shown  Mr.  Temple  what  related  to  public 
affairs,  but  had  not  put  the  whole  letter  into  his  hands. 
All  that  he  could  judge  from  what  he  read  was,  that  the 
count's  mind  was  most  seriously  occupied  with  the 
dangerous  state  of  public  affairs  in  his  country.  "  I 
should  have  thought,"  added  Mr.  Temple,  "that  the 
whole  of  this  communication  was  entirely  of  a  political 
nature,  but  that  in  the  last  page  which  Lord  Oldborough 
put  into  my  hand,  the  catch-words  at  the  bottom  were 
Countess  Christina." 

Alfred  observed,  "  that  without  the  aid  of  Rosamond's 
imagination  to  supply  something  more,  nothing  could  be 
made  of  this.  However,  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  have 
bad  direct  news  of  Count  Altenberg." 


20  PATRONAGE. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Temple  came  for  Alfred.  Lord 
Oldborough  desired  to  see  him. 

"  Whatever  his  business  may  be,  I  am  sure  it  is  im- 
portant and  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Temple ;  "  by  this 
time  I  ought  to  be  well  acquainted  with  Lord  Oldborough 
— I  know  the  signs  of  his  suppressed  emotion,  and  I 
have  seldom  seen  him  put  such  force  upon  himself  to 
appear  calm,  and  to  do  the  business  of  the  day,  before 
he  should  yield  his  mind  to  what  pressed  on  his  secret 
thoughts." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

WHEN  Alfred  arrived,  Lord  Oldborough  was  engaged 
with  some  gentlemen  from  the  city  about  a  loan.  By 
the  length  of  time  which  the  negotiators  staid,  they  tried 
Alfred's  patience;  but  the  minister  sat  with  immoveable 
composure,  till  they  knew  their  own  minds,  and  till  they 
departed.  Then,  the  loan  at  once  dismissed  from  his 
thoughts,  he  was  read)'  for  Alfred. 

"  You  have  married,  I  think,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  since 
I  saw  you  last — I  congratulate  you." 

His  lordship  was  not  in  the  habit  of  noticing  such 
common  events ;  Alfred  was  surprised  and  obliged  by 
the  interest  in  his  private  affairs  which  this  congratula- 
tion denoted. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir,  because  I  understand  you 
have  married  a  woman  of  sense.  To  marry  a  fool — to 
form  or  to  have  any  connexion  with  a  fool,"  continued 
his  lordship,  his  countenance  changing  remarkably  as 
he  spoke,  "  I  conceive  to  be  the  greatest  evil,  the  great- 
est curse,  that  can  be  inflicted  on  a  man  of  sense." 

He  walked  across  the  room  with  long,  firm,  indignant 
strides — then  stopping  short,  he  exclaimed,  "  Lettres  de 
cachet! — Dangerous  instruments  in  bad  hands ! — As  what 
are  not  T — But  one  good  purpose  they  answered — they 
put  it  in  the  power  of  the  head  of  every  noble  house  to 
disown,  and  to  deprive  of  the  liberty  to  disgrace  his 
family,  any  member  who  should  manifest  the  will  to 
commit  desperate  crime  ox  desperate  folly*" 


PATRONAGE.  21 

Alfred  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  join  in  praise 
even  of  this  use  of  a  lettre  de  cachet,  but  he  did  not  think 
it  a  proper  time  to  argue  the  point,  as  he  saw  Lord  Old- 
borough  was  under  the  influence  of  some  strong  passion. 
He  waited  in  silence  till  his  lordship  should  explain  him- 
self further. 

His  lordship  unlocked  a  desk,  and  produced  a  letter. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Percy — Mr.  Alfred  Percy — have  you 
heard  any  thing  lately  of  the  Marchioness  of  Twicken- 
ham r 

"  No,  my  lord." 

Alfred,  at  this  instant,  recollected  the  whisper  which 
he  had  once  heard  at  chapel,  and  he  added,  "  Not  of  late, 
my  lord." 

"  There,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  putting  a  letter  into 
Alfred's  hands — "there  is  the  sum  of  what  I  have 
heard." 

The  letter  was  from  the  Duke  of  Greenwich,  inform- 
ing Lord  Oldborough  that  an  unfortunate  discovery  had 
been  made  of  an  affair  between  the  Marchioness  of 
Twickenham  and  a  certain  Captain  Bellamy,  which 
rendered  an  immediate  separation  necessary. 

"  So  !"  thought  Alfred,  "  my  brother  Godfrey  had  a 
fine  escape  of  this  fair  lady  !" 

"  I  have  seen  her  once  since  I  received  that  letter,  and 
I  never  will  see  her  again,"  said  Lord  Oldborough: 
"  that's  past — all  that  concerns  her  is  past  and  irremedi- 
able. Now  as  to  the  future,  and  to  what  concerns  my- 
self. I  have  been  informed — how  truly,  I  cannot  say — 
that  some  time  ago  a  rumour,  a  suspicion  of  this  in- 
trigue, was  whispered  in  what  they  call  the  fashionable 
world." 

"  I  believe  that  your  lordship  has  been  truly  informed," 
said  Alfred ;  and  he  then  mentioned  the  whisper  he  had 
heard  at  the  chapel. 

"Ha! — Further,  it  has  been  asserted  to  me,  that  a 
hint  was  given  to  the  Marquis  of  Twickenham  of  the 
danger  of  suffering  that — what  is  the  man's  name  1 — 
Bellamy,  to  be  so  near  his  wife  ;  and  that  the  hint  was 
disregarded." 

"  The  marquis  did  very  weakly,  or  very  wickedly," 
said  Alfred. 

"  All  wickedness  is  weakness,  sir,  you  know  :  but  to 
our  point.  I  have  been  assured  that  the  actual  discovery 
of  the  intrigue  was  made  to  the  marquis  some  months 


22  PATRONAGE. 

previous  to  the  birth  of  his  child — and  that  he  forbore 
to  take  any  notice  of  this,  lest  it  might  affect  the  legiti- 
macy of  that  child.  After  the  birth  of  the  infant — a 
boy — subsequent  indiscretions  on  the  part  of  the  mar- 
chioness, the  marquis  would  make  it  appear,  gave  rise 
to  his  first  suspicions.  Now,  sir,  these  are  the  points 
of  which,  as  my  friend  and  as  a  professional  man,  I 
desire  you  to  ascertain  the  truth.  If  the  facts  are  as  I 
have  thus  heard,  I  presume  no  divorce  can  be  legally 
obtained." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  lord." 

"  Then  I  will  direct  you  instantly  to  the  proper  chan- 
nels for  information." 

While  Lord  Oldborough  wrote  directions,  Alfred 
assured  him  he  would  fulfil  his  commission  with  all  the 
discretion  and  celerity  in  his  power. 

"  The  next  step,"  continued  Lord  Oldborough — "  for, 
on  such  a  subject,  I  wish  to  say  all  that  is  necessary  at 
once,  that  it  may  be  banished  from  my  mind — your  next 
step,  supposing  the  facts  to  be  ascertained,  is  to  go  with 
this  letter — my  answer  to  the  Duke  of  Greenwich.  See 
him — and  see  the  marquis.  In  matters  of  consequence 
have  nothing  to  do  with  secondary  people — deal  with 
the  principals.  Show,  in  the  first  place,  as  a  lawyer, 
that  their  divorce  is  unattainable — next,  show  the  mar- 
quis that  he  destroys  his  son  and  heir  by  attempting  it. 
The  duke,  I  believe,  would  be  glad  of  a  pretext  for  dis- 
solving the  political  connexion  between  me  and  the 
Greenwich  family.  He  fears  me,  and  he  fears  the 
world :  he  dares  not  abandon  me  without  a  pretence  for 
the  dissolution  of  friendship.  He  is  a  weak  man,  and 
never  dares  to  act  without  a  pretext ;  but  show  him  that 
a  divorce  is  not  necessary  for  his  purpose — a  separation 
will  do  as  well. — Or,  without  it,  I  am  ready  to  break  with 
him  at  council,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  on  a  hundred 
political  points ;  and  let  him  shield  himself  as  he  may 
from  the  reproach  of  desertion,  by  leaving  the  blame  of 
quarrel  on  my  impracticability,  or  on  what  he  will,  I 
care  not — so  that  my  family  be  saved  from  the  ignominy 
of  divorce." 

As  he  sealed  his  letter,  Lord  Oldborough  went  on  in 
abrupt  sentences. 

"  I  never  counted  on  a  weak  man's  friendship — I  can 
do  without  his  grace.  Woman !  woman ! — The  same 
—ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  world !" 


PATRONAGE.  23 

Then  turning  to  Alfred  to  deliver  the  letter  into  his 
hand,  "  Your  brother,  Major  Percy,  sir — I  think  I  recol- 
lect— he  was  better  in  the  West  Indies," 

"  I  was  just  thinking  so,  my  lord,"  said  Alfred. 

"  Yes — better  encounter  a  plague  than  a  fool." 

Lord  Oldborough  had  never  before  distinctly  adverted 
to  his  knowledge  of  his  niece's  partiality  for  Godfrey, 
but  his  lordship  now  added,  "  Major  Percy's  honourable 
conduct  is  not  unknown :  I  trust  honourable  conduct 
never  was  and  never  will  be  lost  upon  me. — This  to  the 
Duke  of  Greenwich — and  this  to  the  marquis. — Since 
it  was  to  be,  I  rejoice  that  this  Captain  Bellamy  is  the 
gallant. — Had  it  been  your  brother,  sir — could  there 
have  been  any  love  in  the  case— not,  observe,  that  I 
believe  in  love,  much  less  am  I  subject  to  the  weakness 
of  remorse — but  a  twinge  might  have  seized  my  mind — 
I  might  possibly  have  been  told  that  the  marchioness 
was  married  against  her  inclination. — But  I  am  at  ease 
on  that  point — my  judgment  of  her  was  right.  You  will 
let  me  know,  in  one  word,  the  result  of  your  negotiation, 
without  entering  into  particulars — divorce,  or  no  divorce, 
is  all  I  wish  to  hear." 

Alfred  did  not  know  all  the  circumstances  of  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Twickenham's  marriage,  nor  the  peremptory 
manner  in  which  it  had  been  insisted  upon  by  her  uncle, 
otherwise  he  would  have  felt  still  greater  surprise  than 
that  which  he  now  felt,  at  the  stern  unbending  character 
of. the  man.  Possessed  as  Lord  Oldborough  was  by  the 
opinion  that  he  had  at  the  time  judged  and  acted  in  the 
best  manner  possible,  no  after-events  could  make  him 
doubt  the  justice  of  his  own  decision,  or  could  at  all 
shake  him  in  his  own  estimation. 

Alfred  soon  brought  his  report.  "  In  one  word — no 
divorce,  my  lord." 

"That's  well — I  thank  you,  sir." 

His  lordship  made  no  further  inquiries — not  even 
whether  there  was  to  be  a  separation. 

Alfred  was  commissioned  by  the  Duke  of  Greenwich 
to  deliver  a  message,  which,  like  the  messages  of  the 
gods  in  Homer,  he  delivered  verbatim,  and  without  com- 
ment :  "  His  grace  of  Greenwich  trusts  Lord  Oldborough 
will  believe,  that  notwithstanding  the  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstances which  dissolved  in  some  degree  the  family 
connexion,  it  was  the  furthest  possible  from  his  grace's 
wish  or  thoughts  to  break  with  Lord  Oldborough,  as 


24  PATRONAGE. 

long  as  private  feelings  and  public  principles  could  be 
rendered  by  any  means  compatible." 

Lord  Oldborough  smiled  in  scorn— and  Alfred  could 
scarcely  command  his  countenance. 

Lord  Oldborough  prepared  to  give  his  grace  the  oppor- 
tunity, which  he  knew  he  desired,  of  differing  with  him 
on  principle  :  his  lordship  thought  his  favour  and  power 
were  now  sufficiently  established  to  be  able  to  do  with- 
out the  Duke  of  Greenwich,  and  his  pride  prompted 
him  to  show  this  to  his  grace  and  to  the  world.  He 
carried  it  with  a  high  hand  for  a  short  time ;  but  even 
while  he  felt  most  secure,  and  when  all  seemed  to  bend 
and  bow  before  his  genius  and  his  sway,  many  circum- 
stances and  many  persons  were  combining  to  work  the 
downfall  of  his  power. 

One  of  the  first  slight  circumstances  which  shook  his 
favour  was  a  speech  he  had  made  to  some  gentleman 
about  the  presentation  of  the  deanery  to  Buckhurst  Fal- 
coner. It  had  been  supposed  by  many,  who  knew  the 
court  which  Commissioner  Falconer  paid  to  Lord  Old- 
borough,  that  it  was  through  his  lordship's  interest  that 
this  preferment  was  given  to  the  son ;  but  when  some 
person,  taking  this  for  granted,  spoke  of  it  to  his  lord- 
ship, he  indignantly  disclaimed  all  part  in  the  transac- 
tion, and  it  is  said  that  he  added,  "  Sir,  I  know  what  is 
due  to  private  regard,  as  a  man — and,  as  a  minister,  what 
must  be  yielded  to  parliamentary  influence ;  but  I  never 
could  have  advised  the  bestowing  ecclesiastical  benefice 
and  dignity  upon  any  one  whose  conduct  was  not  his 
first  recommendation." 

This  speech,  made  in  a  moment  of  proud  and  perhaps 
unguarded  indignation,  was  repeated  with  additions, 
suppressions,  variations,  and  comments.  Any  thing  will 
at  court  serve  the  purpose  of  those  who  wish  to  injure, 
and  it  is  inconceivable  what  mischief  was  done  to  the 
minister  by  this  slight  circumstance.  In  the  first  place, 
the  nobleman  high  in  office,  and  the  family  connexions 
of  the  nobleman  who  had  made  the  exchange  of  livings, 
and  given  the  promise  of  the  deanery  to  Bishop  Clay, 
were  offended  beyond  redemption — because  they  were 
in  the  wrong.  Then,  all  who  had  done  or  wished  to  do 
wrong  in  similar  instances  were  displeased  by  reflection 
or  by  anticipation.  But  Lord  Oldborough  chiefly  was 
injured  by  misrepresentation  in  the  quarter  where  it 


PATRONAGE.  25 

Was  of  most  consequence  to  him  to  preserve  his  influ- 
ence. It  was  construed  by  the  highest  authority  into 
disrespect,  and  an  imperious  desire  to  encroach  on 
favour,  to  control  prerogative,  and  to  subdue  the  mind 
Of  his  sovereign.  Insidious  arts  had  long  been  secretly 
employed  to  infuse  these  ideas ;  and  when  once  the 
jealousy  of  power  was  excited,  every  trifle  confirmed 
the  suspicion  which  Lord  Oldborough's  uncourtier-like 
character  was  little  calculated  to  dispel.  His  popu- 
larity now  gave  umbrage,  and  it  was  hinted  that  he 
wished  to  make  himself  the  independent  minister  of  the 
people. 

The  affairs  of  the  country  prospered,  however,  under 
his  administration ;  there  was  trouble,  there  was  hazard 
in  change.  It  was  argued,  that  it  was  best  to  wait  at 
least  for  some  reverse  of  fortune  in  war,  or  some  symp- 
tom of  domestic  discontent,  before  an  attempt  should 
be  made  to  displace  this  minister,  formidable  by  his 
talents,  and  by  the  awe  his  commanding  character 
inspired. 

The  habit  of  confidence  and  deference  for  his  genius 
and  integrity  remained,  and  to  him  no  difference  for 
some  time  appeared  in  consequence  of  the  secret  decay 
of  favour. 

Commissioner  Falconer,  timid,  anxious,  restless,  was 
disposed  by  circumstances  and  by  nature,  or  by  second 
nature,  to  the  vigilance  of  a  dependant's  life ;  accus- 
tomed to  watch  and  consult  daily  the  barometer  of  court 
favour,  he  soon  felt  the  coming  storm  ;  and  the  moment 
he  saw  prognostics  of  the  change,  he  trembled,  and 
considered  how  he  should  best  provide  for  his  own 
safety  before  the  hour  of  danger  arrived.  Numerous 
libels  against  the  minister  appeared,  which  Lord  Old- 
borough  never  read,  but  the  commissioner,  with  his  best 
spectacles,  read  them  all ;  for  he  well  knew  and  believed 
what  the  sage  Selden  saith,  that  "  though  some  make 
slight  of  libels,  yet  you  may  see  by  them  how  the  wind 
sets." 

After  determining,  by  the  throwing  up  of  these  straws, 
which  way  the  wind  set,  the  commissioner  began  with 
all  possible  skill  and  dexterity  to  trim  his  boat.  But, 
dexterous  trimmer  though  he  was,  and  "  prescient  of 
change,"  he  did  not  yet  foresee  from  what  quarter  the 
storm  would  come. 

Count  Altenberg's  letters  had  unveiled  completely  the 

VOL.  XVI.— B 


26  PATRONAGE. 

envoy  Cunningham  Falconer's  treachery  as  far  as  i£ 
related  to  his  intrigues  abroad,  and  other  friends  detected 
some  of  his  manoeuvres  with  politicians  at  home,  to 
whom  he  had  endeavoured  to  pay  court  by  betraying 
confidence  reposed  in  him  respecting  the  Tourville  pa- 
pers. Much  of  the  mischief  Cunningham  had  done  this 
great  minister  still  operated,  unknown  to  his  unsus- 
picious mind :  but  sufficient  was  revealed  to  determine 
Lord  Oldborough  to  dismiss  him  from  all  future  hopes 
of  his  favour. 

"  Mr.  Commissioner  Falconer,"  he  began  one  morn- 
ing, the  moment  the  commissioner  entered  his  cabinet, — > 
"  Mr.  Commissioner  Falconer,"  in  a  tone  which  instantly 
dispelled  the  smile  at  entrance  from  the  commissioner's 
countenance,  and  in  the  same  moment  changed  his  whole 
configurature — "  my  confidence  is  withdrawn  from  your 
son  Mr.  Cunningham  Falconer — for  ever — and  not  with- 
out good  reason — as  you  may — if  you  are  not  aware  of 
it  already — see,  by  those  papers." 

Lord  Oldborough  turned  away,  and  asked  his  secre- 
taries for  his  red  box,  as  he  was  going  to  council. 

Just  as  he  left  his  cabinet,  he  looked  back  and  said, 
"  Mr.  Falconer,  you  should  know,  if  you  be  not  already 
apprized  of  it,  that  your  son  Cunningham  is  on  his  road 
to  Denmark.  You  should  be  aware  that  the  journey  is 
not  made  by  my  desire,  or  by  his  majesty's  order,  or  by 
any  official  authority :  consequently,  he  is  travelling  to 
the  court  of  Denmark  at  his  own  expense,  or  yours — 
unless  he  can  prevail  upon  his  grace  of  Greenwich  to 
defray  his  ambassadorial  travelling  charges,  or  can 
afford  to  wait  for  them  till  a  total  change  of  administra- 
tion— of  which,  sir,  if  I  see  any  symptoms  to-day  in 
council,"  added  his  lordship,  in  the  tone  of  bitter  irony, 
"  I  will  give  you  fair  notice — for  fair  dealing  is  what  I 
practise." 

This  said,  the  minister  left  the  commissioner  to  digest 
his  speech  as  he  might,  and  repaired  to  council,  where 
he  found  every  thing  apparently  as  smooth  as  usual,  and 
where  he  was  received  by  all,  especially  by  the  highest, 
with  perfect  consideration. 

Meantime  Commissioner  Falconer  was  wretched  be- 
yond expression — wretched  in  the  certainty  that  his  son, 
that  he  himself,  had  probably  lost,  irrecoverably,  one 
excellent  patron,  before  they  had  secured,  even  in  case 
of  change,  another.  This  premature  discovery  of 


PATRONAGE.  27 

Cunningham's  intrigues  totally  disconcerted  and  over- 
whelmed him  ;  and,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  he 
cursed  the  duplicity  which  he  had  taught  and  encouraged, 
still  more  by  example  than  by  precept.  But  Cunning- 
ham's duplicity  had  more  and  closer  folds  than  his  own. 
Cunningham,  conceited  of  his  diplomatic  genius,  and 
fearful  of  the  cautious  timidity  of  his  father,  did  not 
trust  that  father  with  the  knowledge  of  all  he  did,  or 
half  of  what  he  intended ;  so  that  the  commissioner, 
who  had  thought  himself  at  the  bottom  of  every  thing, 
now  found  that  he  too  had  been  cheated  by  his  son 
with  false  confidences;  and  was  involved  by  him  in  the 
consequences  of  a  scheme  of  which  he  had  never  been 
the  adviser.  Commissioner  Falconer  knew  too  well,  by 
the  experience  of  Cumberland  and  others,  the  fate  of 
those  who  suffer  themselves  to  be  lured  on  by  second- 
hand promises ;  and  who  venture,  without  being  pub- 
licly acknowledged  by  their  employers,  to  undertake 
any  diplomatic  mission.  Nor  would  Cunningham,  whose 
natural  disposition  to  distrust  was  greater  than  his 
father's,  have  sold  himself  to  any  political  tempter  without 
first  signing  and  sealing  the  compact,  had  he  been  in 
possession  of  his  cool  judgment,  and  had  he  been  in  any 
other  than  the  desperate  circumstances  in  which  he  was 
placed.  His  secret  conscience  whispered  that  his  recall 
was  in  consequence  of  the  detection  of  some  of  his 
intrigues,  and  he  dreaded  to  appear  before  the  haughty, 
irritated  minister.  Deceived  also  by  news  from  England 
that  Lord  Oldborough's  dismission  or  resignation  could 
not  be  distant,  Cunningham  had  ventured  upon  this  bold 
stroke  for  an  embassy. 

On  Lord  Oldborough's  return  from  council,  the  com- 
missioner, finding,  from  his  secret  informants,  that  every 
thing  had  gone  on  smoothly,  and  being  overawed  by  the 
confident  security  of  the  minister,  began  to  doubt  his 
former  belief ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  the  symptoms  of  change, 
was  now  inclined  to  think  that  none  would  take  place. 
The  sorrow  and  contrition  with  which  he  next  appeared 
before  Lord  Oldborough  were,  therefore,  truly  sincere ; 
and  when  he  found  himself  alone  once  more  with  his 
lordship,  earnest  was  the  vehemence  with  which  he  dis- 
claimed his  unworthy  son,  and  disavowed  all  knowledge 
of  the  transaction. 

"  If  I  had  seen  cause  to  believe  that  you  had  any  part 
in  this  transaction,  sir,  you  would  not  be  here  at  this 
B2 


28  PATRONAGE. 

moment :  therefore,  your  protestations  are  superfluous 
— none  would  be  accepted  if  any  were  necessary." 

The  very  circumstance  of  the  son's  not  having  trusted 
the  father  completely  saved  the  commissioner,  this 
time  from  utter  ruin :  he  took  breath ;  and  presently — 
oh  weak  man  !  doomed  never  to  know  how  to  deal  with 
a  strong  character — fancying  that  his  intercession  might 
avail  for  his  son,  and  that  the  pride  of  Lord  Oldborough 
might  be  appeased,  and  might  be  suddenly  wrought  to 
forgiveness,  by  that  tone  and  posture  of  submission 
and  supplication  used  only  by  the  subject  to  offended 
majesty,  he  actually  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
minister. 

"  My  gracious  lord — a  pardon  for  my  son !" 

"  I  beseech  you,  sir !"  cried  Lord  Oldborough,  endeav- 
ouring to  stop  him  from  kneeling — the  commissioner 
sank  instantly  on  his  knee. 

"  Never  will  the  unhappy  father  rise  till  his  son  be 
restored  to  your  favour,  my  lord." 

"  Sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  "  I  have  no  favour  for 
those  who  have  no  sense  of  honour :  rise,  Mr.  Falconer, 
and  let  not  the  father  degrade  himself  for  the  son — un- 
availingly." 

The  accent  and  look  were  decisive — the  commissioner 
arose.  Instead  of  being  gratified,  his  patron  seemed 
shocked,  if  not  disgusted:  far  from  being  propitiated  by 
this  sacrifice  of  dignity,  it  rendered  him  still  more  averse 
— and  no  consolatory  omen  appearing,  the  commissioner 
withdrew  in  silence,  repenting  that  he  had  abased  him- 
self. After  this  some  days  and  nights  passed  with  him 
in  all  the  horrors  of  indecision. — Could  the  minister 
weather  the  storm  or  not1? — should  Mr.  Falconer  en- 
deavour to  reinstate  himself  with  Lord  Oldborough,  or 
secure  in  time  favour  with  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  1 — 
Mrs.  Falconer,  to  whom  her  husband's  groans  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  at  last  betrayed  the  sufferings  of  his 
mind,  drew  from  him  the  secret  of  his  fears  and  medi- 
tations. She  advised  strongly  the  going  over,  de- 
cidedly, and  in  time,  but  secretly,  to  the  Greenwich 
faction. 

The  commissioner  knew  that  this  could  not  be  done 
secretly.  The  attention  of  the  minister  was  now  awake 
to  all  his  motions,  and  the  smallest  movement  towards 
his  grace  of  Greenwich  must  be  observed  and  under- 
stood. On  the  other  hand,  to  abide  by  a  falling  minister 


PATRONAGE.  29 

was  folly,  especially  when  he  had  positively  withdrawn 
his  favour  from  Cunningham,  who  had  the  most  to  ex- 
pect from  his  patronage.  Between  these  opposite  diffi- 
culties, notwithstanding  the  urgent  excitations  of  Mrs. 
Falconer,  the  poor  commissioner  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  decide,  till  the  time  for  action  was  past. 

Another  blow  came  upon  him  for  which  he  was 
wholly  unprepared — there  arrived  from  abroad  accounts 
of  the  failure  of  a  secret  expedition  ;  and  the  general  in 
his  despatches  named  Colonel  John  Falconer  as  the  offi- 
cer to  whose  neglect  of  orders  he  principally  attributed 
the  disappointment.  It  appeared  that  orders  had  been 
sent  to  have  his  regiment  at  a  certain  place  at  a  given 
hour.  At  the  moment  these  orders  came,  Colonel  John 
Falconer  was  out  on  a  shooting  party  without  leave. 
The  troops,  of  course,  on  which  the  general  had  relied, 
did  not  arrive  in  time,  and  all  his  other  combinations 
failed  from  this  neglect  of  discipline  and  disobedience 
of  orders.  Colonel  Falconer  was  sent  home  to  be  tried 
by  a  court-martial. 

"  I  pity  you,  sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  as  Commis- 
sioner Falconer,  white  as  ashes,  read  in  his  presence 
these  despatches — "  I  pity  you,  sir,  from  my  soul :  here 
is  no  fault  of  yours — the  fault  is  mine." 

It  was  one  of  the  few  faults  of  this  nature  which  Lord 
Oldborough  had  ever  committed.  Except  in  the  instance 
of  the  Falconer  family,  none  could  name  any  whom  his 
lordship  had  placed  in  situations  for  which  they  were 
inadequate  or  unfit.  Of  this  single  error  he  had  not  fore- 
seen the  consequences ;  they  were  more  important, 
more  injurious  to  him  and  to  the  public  than  he  could 
have  calculated  or  conceived.  It  appeared  now  as  if 
the  Falconer  family  were  doomed  to  be  his  ruin.  That 
the  public  knew,  in  general,  that  John  Falconer  had  been 
promoted  by  ministerial  favour,  Lord  Oldborough  was 
aware ;  but  he  imagined  that  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  that  affair  were  known  only  to  himself  and  to  Com- 
missioner Falconer's  family.  To  his  astonishment  he 
found,  at  this  critical  moment,  that  the  whole  trans- 
action had  reached  the  ear  of  majesty,  and  that  it  was 
soon  publicly  known.  The  commissioner,  with  protest- 
ations and  oaths,  declared  that  the  secret  had  never,  by 
his  means,  transpired — it  had  been  divulged  by  the  base- 
ness of  his  son  Cunningham,  who  betrayed  it  to  the 
Greenwich  faction.  They,  skilled  in  all  the  arts  of 


30  PATRONAGE. 

undermining  a  rival,  employed  the  means  that  were 
thus  put  into  their  power  with  great  diligence  and 
effect. 

It  was  observed  at  levee,  that  the  sovereign  looked 
coldly  upon  the  minister.  Every  courtier  whispered 
that  Lord  Oldborough  had  been  certainly  much  to 
blame.  Disdainful  of  their  opinions,  Lord  Oldborough 
was  sensibly  affected  by  the  altered  eye  of  his  sove- 
reign. 

"  What !  After  all  my  services  ! — At  the  first  change 
of  fortune !" 

This  sentiment  swelled  in  his  breast ;  but  his  counte- 
nance was  rigidly  calm,  his  demeanour  towards  the 
courtiers  and  towards  his  colleagues  more  than  usually 
firm,  if  not  haughty. 

After  the  levee,  he  demanded  a  private  audience. 

Alone  with  the  king,  the  habitual  influence  of  this 
great  minister's  superior  genius  operated.  The  cold 
manner  was  changed,  or,  rather,  it  was  changed  involun- 
tarily. From  one  "  not  used  to  the  language  of  apology," 
the  frank  avowal  of  a  fault  has  a  striking  effect.  Lord 
Oldborough  took  upon  himself  the  whole  blame  of  the 
disaster  that  had  ensued,  in  consequence  of  his  error,  an 
error  frequent  in  other  ministers,  in  him  almost  unpre- 
cedented. 

r  He  was  answered  with  a  smile  of  royal  raillery,  that 
the  peculiar  family  circumstances  which  had  determined 
his  lordship  so  rapidly  to  promote  that  officer  must,  to 
all  fathers  of  families  and  heads  of  houses,  if  not  to 
statesmen  and  generals,  be  a  sufficient  and  home 
apology. 

Considering  the  peculiar  talent  which  his  sovereign 
possessed,  and  in  which  he  gloried,  that  of  knowing  the 
connexions  and  domestic  affairs,  not  only  of  the  nobility 
near  his  person,  but  of  private  individuals  remote  from 
his  court,  Lord  Oldborough  had  little  cause  to  be  sur- 
prised that  this  secret  transaction  should  be  known  to 
his  majesty.  Something  of  this  his  lordship,  with  all 
due  respect,  hinted  in  reply.  At  the  termination  of  this 
audience,  he  was  soothed  by  the  condescending  assur- 
ance that  while  the  circumstances  of  the  late  unfortunate 
reverse  naturally  created  regret  and  mortification,  no 
dissatisfaction  with  his  ministerial  conduct  mixed  with 
these  feelings ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  assured  that 
fear  of  the  effect  a  disappointment  might  have  on  the 


PATRONAGE.  f  31 

mind  of  the  public,  in  diminishing  confidence  in  his  lord- 
ship's efforts  for  the  good  of  the  country,  was  the  senti- 
ment which  had  lowered  the  spirits  and  clouded  the 
brow  of  majesty. 

His  lordship  returned  thanks  for  the  gracious  demon- 
stration of  these  sentiments — and  bowing  respectfully 
withdrew.  In  the  faces  and  behaviour  of  the  courtiers, 
as  in  a  glass,  he  saw  reflected  the  truth.  They  all  pre- 
tended to  be  in  the  utmost  consternation ;  and  he  heard 
of  nothing  but  "  apprehensions  for  the  effect  on  the  public 
mind,"  and  "  fears  for  his  lordship's  popularity."  His 
secretary,  Mr.  Temple,  heard,  indeed,  more  of  this  than 
could  reach  his  lordship's  ear  directly  ;  for,  even  now, 
when  they  thought  they  foresaw  his  fall,  few  had  suffi- 
cient courage  to  hazard  the  tone  of  condolence  with 
Lord  Oldborongh,  or  to  expose  the  face  of  hypocrisy  to 
the  severity  of  his  penetrating  eye.  In  secret  every 
means  had  been  taken  to  propagate  in  the  city  the  know- 
ledge of  all  the  circumstances  that  were  unfavourable 
to  the  minister,  and  to  increase  the  dissatisfaction  which 
any  check  in  the  success  of  our  armies  naturally  pro- 
duces. The  tide  of  popularity,  which  had  hitherto  sup- 
ported the  minister,  suddenly  ebbed ;  and  he  fell  in  public 
opinion  with  astonishing  rapidity.  For  the  moment  all 
was  forgotten,  but  that  he  was  the  person  who  had  pro- 
moted John  Falconer  to  be  a  colonel,  against  whom  the 
cry  of  the  populace  was  raised  with  all  the  clamour  of 
national  indignation.  The  Greenwich  faction  knew  how 
to  take  advantage  of  this  disposition. 

It  happened  to  be  some  festival,  some  holyday,  when 
the  common  people,  having  nothing  to  do,  are  more  dis- 
posed than  at  any  other  time  to  intoxication  and  disorder. 
The  emissaries  of  designing  partisans  mixed  with  the 
populace,  and  a  mob  gathered  round  the  minister's  car- 
riage, as  he  was  returning  home  late  one  day — the  same 
carriage,  and  the  same  man  whom,  but  a  few  short  weeks 
before,  this  populace  had  drawn  with  loud  huzzas,  and 
almost  with  tears  of  affection.  Unmoved  of  mind,  as  he 
had  been  when  he  heard  their  huzzas,  Lord  Oldborough 
now  listened  to  their  execrations,  till  from  abuse  they 
began  to  proceed  to  outrage.  Stones  were  thrown  at 
his  carriage.  One  of  his  servants  narrowly  escaped 
being  struck.  Lord  Oldborough  was  alone — he  threw 
open  his  carriage-rdoor,  and  sprang  out  on  the  step. 

"  Whose  life  is  it  you  seek  I"  cried  he,  in  a  voice 


32  PATRONAGE. 

which  obtained  instant  silence.  "Lord  Olborough's? 
Lord  Oldborough  stands  before  you.  Take  his  life  who 
dares — a  life  spent  in  your  service.  Strike !  but  strike 
openly.  You  are  Englishmen,  not  assassins." 

Then,  turning  to  his  servants,  he  added,  in  a  calm 
voice,  "  Home — slowly.  Not  a  man  here  will  touch  you. 
Keep  your  master  in  sight.  If  I  fall,  mark  by  what 
hand." 

Then  stepping  down  into  the  midst  of  the  people,  he 
crossed  the  street  to  the  flagged  pathway,  the  crowd 
opening  to  make  way  for  him.  He  walked  on  with  a 
deliberate  firm  step ;  the  mob  moving  along  with  him, 
sometimes  huzzaing,  sometimes  uttering  horrid  execra- 
tions in  horrid  tones.  Lord  Oldborough,  preserving 
absolute  silence,  still  walked  on,  never  turned  his  head, 
or  quickened  his  pace,  till  he  reached  his  own  house. 
Then,  facing  the  mob,  as  he  stood  waiting  till  the  door 
should  be  opened,  the  people,  struck  with  his  intrepidity, 
with  one  accord  joined  in  a  shout  of  applause. 

The  next  instant,  and  before  the  door  was  opened, 
they  cried,  "  Hat  off!— Hat  off!" 

Lord  Oldborough's  hat  never  stirred.  A  man  took  up 
a  stone. 

"  Mark  that  man  !"  cried  Lord  Oldborough. 

The  door  opened.  "  Return  to  your  homes,  my  coun- 
trymen,  and  bless  God  that  you  have  not  any  of  you  to 
answer  this  night  for  murder  J" 

Then  entering  his  house,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  gave 
it  to  one  of  his  attendants.  His  secretary,  Temple,  had 
run  down  stairs  to  meet  him,  inquiring  what  was  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance. 

"  Only,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  "  that  I  have  served 
the  people,  but  never  bent  to  them." 

"  Curse  them,  they  are  not  worth  serving.  Oh !  I 
thought  they'd  have  taken  my  lord's  life  that  minute," 
cried  his  faithful  servant  Rodney.  "  The  sight  left  my 
eyes.  I  thought  he  was  gone  for  ever.  Thank  God ! 
he's  safe.  Take  off  my  lord's  coat — I  can't — for  the 
soul  of  me.  Curse  those  ungrateful  people  !" 

"  Do  not  curse  them,  my  good  Rodney,"  said  Lord 
Oldborough,  smiling.  "  Poor  people,  they  are  not  un- 
grateful, only  mistaken.  Those  who  mislead  them  are 
to  blame.  The  English  are  a  fine  people.  Even  an 
English  mob,  you  see,  is  generous  an,d  justj  as  far  as  it 
knows," 


PATRONAGE.  33 

Lord  Oldborough  was  sound  asleep  this  night,  before 
any  other  individual  in  the  house  had  finished  talking  of 
the  dangers  he  had  escaped. 

The  civil  and  military  courage  shown  by  the  minister 
in  the  sudden  attack  upon  his  character  and  person  were 
such  as  to  raise  him  again  at  once  to  his  former  height 
in  public  esteem.  His  enemies  were  obliged  to  affect 
admiration.  The  Greenwich  party,  foiled  in  this  at- 
tempt, now  disavowed  it.  News  of  a  victory  effaced 
the  memory  of  the  late  disappointment.  Stocks  rose 
— addresses  for  a  change  of  ministry  were  quashed — 
addresses  of  thanks  and  congratulation  poured  in — Lord 
Oldborough  gave  them  to  Mr.  Temple  to  answer,  and 
kept  the  strength  of  his  attention  fixed  upon  the  great 
objects  which  were  essential  to  the  nation  and  the  sove- 
reign he  served. 

Mr.  Falconer  saw  that  the  storm  had  blown  over,  the 
darkness  was  past — Lord  Oldborough,  firm  and  superior, 
stood  bright  in  power,  and  before  him  the  commissioner 
bent  more  obsequious,  more  anxious  than  ever.  Anx- 
ious he  might  well  be — unhappy  father !  the  life,  per- 
haps, of  one  of  his  sons,  his  honour,  certainly,  at  stake 
— the  fortune  of  another — his  existence  ruined  !  And 
what  hopes  of  propitiating  him  who  had  so  suffered  by 
the  favour  he  had  already  shown,  who  had  been  be- 
trayed by  one  of  the  family,  and  disgraced  by  another. 
The  commissioner's  only  hope  was  in  the  recollection, 
of  the  words,  "  I  pity  you  from  my  soul,  sir,"  which 
burst  from  Lord  Oldborough,  even  at  the  moment  when 
he  had  most  reason  to  be  enraged  against  Colonel  Fal- 
coner. Following  up  this  idea,  and  working  on  the 
generous  compassion  of  which  but  for  this  indication 
he  would  not  have  supposed  the  stern  Lord  Oldborough 
to  be  susceptible,  the  commissioner  appeared  before 
him  every  day  the  image  of  a  broken-hearted  father. 
In  silence  Lord  Oldborough  from  time  to  time  looked  at 
him ;  and  by  these  looks,  more  than  by  all  the  prom- 
ises of  all  the  great  men  who  had  ever  spoken  to  him, 
Mr.  Falconer  was  reassured ;  and,  as  he  told  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, who  at  this  time  was  in  dreadful  anxiety,  he 
felt  certain  that  Lord  Oldborough  would  not  punish 
him  for  the  faults  of  his  sons — he  was  satisfied  that 
his  place  and  his  pension  would  not  be  taken  from  him 
— and  that,  at  least  in  fortune,  they  should  not  be 
utterly  ruined.  In  this  security  the  commissioner 
B3 


34  PATRONAGE. 

showed  rather  more  than  his  customary  degree  of 
strength  of  mind,  and  more  knowledge  of  Lord  Old- 
borough's  character  than  he  had  upon  most  other  occa- 
sions evinced. 

Things  were  in  this  state  when,  one  morning,  after 
the  minister  had  given  orders  that  no  one  should  be  ad- 
mitted, as  he  was  dictating  some  public  papers  of  con- 
sequence to  Mr.  Temple,  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  was 
announced.  His  grace  sent  in  a  note  to  signify  that  he 
waited  upon  Lord  Oldborough  by  order  of  his  majesty  ; 
oad  that,  if  this  hour  were  not  convenient,  he  begged  to 
have  the  hour  named  at  which  his  grace  could  be  ad 
mitted.  His  grace  was  admitted  instantly.  Mr.  Temple 
retired — for  it  was  evident  this  was  to  be  a  secret  con 
ference.  His  grace  of  Greenwich  entered  with  the 
most  important  solemnity — infinitely  more  ceremonious 
than  usual,  he  was  at  last  seated,  and,  after  heavy  and 
audible  sighs,  still  hesitated  to  open  his  business. 
Through  the  affected  gloom  and  dejection  of  his  coun- 
tenance Lord  Oldborough  saw  a  malicious  pleasure 
lurking,  while,  in  a  studied  exordium,  he  spoke  of  the 
infinite  reluctance  with  which  he  had  been  compelled, 
by  his  majesty's  express  orders,  to  wait  upon  his  lord- 
ship on  a  business  the  most  painful  to  his  feelings.  As 
being  a  public  colleague — as  a  near  and  dear  connexion 
•— as  a  friend  in  long  habits  of  intimacy  with  his  lord- 
ship, he  had  prayed  his  majesty  to  be  excused ;  but  it 
was  his  majesty's  pleasure :  he  had  only  now  to  beg  his 
lordship  to  believe,  that  it  was  with  infinite  concern, 
&c.  Lord  Oldborough,  though  suffering  under  this  cir- 
cumlocution, never  condescended  to  show  any  symp- 
tom of  impatience ;  but  allowing  his  grace  to  run  the 
changes  on  the  words  and  forms  of  apology,  when  these 
were  exhausted,  his  lordship  simply  said,  that  "  his 
majesty's  pleasure  of  course  precluded  all  necessity  for 
apology." 

His  grace  was  vexed  to  find  Lord  Oldborough  still 
unmoved — he  was  sure  this  tranquillity  could  not  long 
endure :  he  continued,  "  A  sad  business,  my  lord — a 
terrible  discovery — I  really  can  hardly  bring  myself  to 
speak — " 

Lord  Oldborough  gave  his  grace  no  assistance. 

"  My  private  regard,"  he  repeated. 

A  smile  of  contempt  on  Lord  Oldborough's  counte- 
nance. 


PATRONAGE.  35 

"  Your  lordship's  hitherto  invulnerable  public  integ- 
rity—" 

A  glance  of  indignation  from  Lord  Oldborough. 
"  Hitherto  invulnerable  ! — your  grace  will  explain." 
"  Let  these — these  fatal  notes — letters — unfortunately 
got  into  the  hands  of  a  leading,  impracticable  member 
of   opposition,  and  by  him   laid — Would   that   I   had 
been  apprized,  or  could   have   conceived  it   possible, 
time   enough   to   prevent   that  step !   but  it  was  done 
before  I  had  the  slightest  intimation — laid  before  his 
majesty — " 

Lord  Oldborough  calmly  received  the  letters  from  his 
grace. 

"  My  own  handwriting,  and  private  seal,  I  perceive." 

The  duke  sighed — and  while  Lord  Oldborough  drew 
out,  opened,  and  read  the  first  letter  in  the  parcel,  his 
grace  went  on — "  This  affair  has  thrown  us  all  into  the 
greatest  consternation.  It  is  to  be  brought  before  par- 
liament immediately — unless  a  resignation  should  take 
place — which  we  should  all  deplore.  The  impudence, 
the  inveteracy  of  that  fellow  is  astonishing — no  silen- 
cing him.  We  might  hush  up  the  affair  if  his  majesty 
had  not  been  apprized ;  but  where  the  interest  of  the 
service  is  concerned,  his  majesty  is  warm." 

"  His  majesty !"  cried  Lord  Oldborough :  "  his  majesty 
could  not,  I  trust,  for  a  moment  imagine  these  letters 
to  be  mine  ?" 

"  But  for  the  hand  and  seal,  which  I  understood  your 
lordship  to  acknowledge,  I  am  persuaded  his  majesty 
could  not  have  believed  it." 

"  Believed !  My  king ! — did  he  believe  it  ?"  cried  Lord 
Oldborough.  His  agitation  was  for  a  moment  excessive, 
uncontrollable.  "No!  that  I  will  never  credit,  till  I  have 
it  from  his  own  lips."  Then  commanding  himself — • 
"  Your  grace  will  have  the  goodness  to  leave  these  let- 
ters with  me  till  to-morrow." 

«  His  grace,  with  infinite  politeness  and  regret,  was 
under  the  necessity  of  refusing  this  request.  His 
orders  were  only  to  show  the  letters  to  his  lordship, 
and  then  to  restore  them  to  the  hands  of  the  member 
of  opposition  who  had  laid  them  before  his  majesty. 

Lord  Oldborough  took  off  the  cover  of  one  of  the 
letters,  on  which  was  merely  the  address  and  seal.  The 
address  was  written  also  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter  en- 
closed, therefore  the  cover  could  not  be  of  the  least 


36  PATRONAGE. 

importance.  The  duke  could  not,  Lord  Oldboroagfe 
said,  refuse  to  leave  this  with  him. 

To  this  his  grace  agreed — protesting  that  he  was  far 
from  wishing  to  make  difficulties.  If  there  was  any 
thing  else  he  could  do — any  thing  his  lordship  would 
wish  to  have  privately  insinuated  or  publicly  said — 

His  lordship,  with  proud  thanks,  assured  the  duke  he 
did  not  wish  to  have  any  thing  privately  insinuated ; 
and  whatever  it  was  necessary  to  say  or  do  publicly  he 
should  do  himself,  or  give  orders  to  have  done.  His 
lordship  entered  into  no  further  explanation.  The  duke 
at  last  was  obliged  to  take  his  leave,  earnestly  hoping 
and  trusting  that  this  business  would  terminate  to  his 
lordship's  entire  satisfaction. 

No  sooner  was  the  duke  gone  than  Lord  Oldborough 
rang  for  his  carriage. 

"  Immediately — and  Mr.  Temple,  instantly." 

While  his  carriage  was  coming  to  the  door,  in  the 
shortest  manner  possible  Lord  Oldborough  stated  the 
facts  to  his  secretary,  that  letters  had  been  forged  in 
his  lordship's  name,  promising  to  certain  persons  pro- 
motion in  the  army — and  navy — gratification — and  pen- 
sions. Some  were  addressed  to  persons  who  had  actu- 
ally obtained  promotion,  shortly  after  the  time  of  these 
letters ;  others  contained  reproaches  for  having  been 
ill-used.  Even  from  the  rapid  glance  Lord  Oldborough 
had  taken  of  these  papers,  he  had  retained  the  names 
of  several  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were  ad- 
dressed— and  the  nature  of  the  promotion  obtained. 
They  were  persons  who  could  have  had  no  claim  upon 
an  honest  minister.  His  lordship  left  a  list  of  them 
with  Mr.  Temple — also  the  cover  of  the  letter,  on, 
which  was  a  specimen  of  the  forged  writing  and  the 
private  seal. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  king.  In  my  absence,  Mr.  Tem- 
ple, think  for  me — I  know  you  feel  for  me.  The  object 
>s  to  discover  the  authors  of  this  forgery." 

"  My  lord,  may  1  consult  with  Mr.  Alfred  Percy  V 

"  Yes,  with  no  other  person." 

It  was  not  Lord  Oldborough's  day  for  doing  business 
with  the  king.  He  was  late — the  king  was  going  out 
to  ride.  His  majesty  received  the  minister  as  usual; 
but  notwithstanding  the  condescension  of  his  majesty's 
words  and  manner,  it  was  evident  to  Lord  Oldborough's 


PATRONAGE.  37 

penetration  that  there  was  a  coldness  and  formality  in 
the  king's  countenance. 

"  I  beg  I  may  not  detain  your  majesty — I  see  I  am 
late,"  said  Lord  Oldborough. 

"  Is  the  business  urgent,  my  lord  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  for  it  concerns  principally  myself:  it  can, 
therefore,  wait  your  majesty's  leisure,  at  any  hour  your 
majesty  may  appoint." 

The  king  dismounted  instantly. 

"  This  moment,  my  lord,  I  am  at  leisure  for  any  busi- 
ness that  concerns  your  lordship." 

The  king  returned  to  the  palace — Lord  Oldborough 
followed,  and  all  the  spectators  on  foot  and  horseback 
were  left  full  of  curiosity. 

Notwithstanding  the  condescension  of  his  majesty's 
words  and  manner,  and  the  polite  promptitude  to  attend 
to  any  business  that  concerned  his  lordship,  it  was  evi- 
dent to  Lord  Oldborough's  penetration  that  there  was 
an  unusual  coldness  and  formality  in  the  king's  counte- 
nance and  deportment,  unlike  the  graciousness  of  his 
reception  when  satisfied  and  pleased.  As  soon  as  the 
business  of  the  day  had  been  gone  through,  Lord  Old- 
borough  said  he  must  now  beg  his  majesty's  attention 
on  a  subject  which  principally  concerned  himself.  The 
king  looked  as  one  prepared  to  hear,  but  determined  to 
say  as  little  as  possible. 

Lord  Oldborough  placed  himself  so  as  to  give  the  king 
the  advantage  of  the  light,  which  he  did  not  fear  to  have 
full  on  his  own  countenance. 

"  Sir,  certain  letters,  signed  with  my  name  and  sealed 
with  my  seal,  have,  I  am  informed,  been  laid  before 
your  majesty." 

"  Your  lordship  has  been  rightly  informed." 

"  I  trust — I  hope  that  your  majesty — " 

At  the  firm  assertion,  in  the  tone  with  which  Lord 
Oldborough  pronounced,  I  trust,  his  majesty's  eye 
changed — and  moved  away  from  Lord  Oldborough's, 
when  he,  with  respectful  interrogation  of  tone,  added, 
"  I  hope  your  majesty  could  not  believe  those  letters  to 
be  mine  ?" 

"  Frankly,  my  lord,"  said  the  king,  "  the  assertions, 
the  insinuations  of  no  man,  or  set  of  men,  of  any  rank 
or  weight  in  my  dominions,  could  by  any  imaginable 
means  have  induced  me  to  conceive  it  possible  that  such 
letters  had  been  written  by  your  lordship.  Not  for  one 


38  PATRONAGE. 

moment  could  my  belief  have  been  compelled  by  any 
evidence  less  strong  than  your  lordship's  handwriting 
and  seal.  I  own,  I  thought  I  knew  your  lordship's  seal 
and  writing ;  but  I  now  see  that  I  have  been  deceived, 
and  I  rejoice  to  see  it." 

"  I  thank  your  majesty.  I  cannot  feel  surprise  that 
a  forgery  and  a  counterfeit  which,  at  first  view,  com- 
pelled my  own  belief  of  their  being  genuine,  should, 
for  a  moment,  have  deceived  you,  sir ;  but,  I  own,  I 
had  nattered  myself  that  my  sovereign  knew  my 
heart  and  character  yet  better  than  my  seal  and  sig- 
nature." 

"  Undoubtedly,  my  lord." 

"  And  I  should  have  hoped  that,  if  your  majesty  had 
perused  those  letters,  no  assertions  could  have  been 
necessary,  on  my  part,  to  convince  you,  sir,  that  they 
eould  not  be  mine.  I  have  now  only  to  rejoice  that 
your  majesty  is  undeceived ;  and  that  I  have  not  in- 
truded unnecessarily  with  this  explanation.  I  am  fully 
sensible,  sir,  of  your  goodness,  in  having  thus  permitted 
me  to  make,  as  early  as  possible,  this  assertion  of  my 
innocence.  For  the  proofs  of  it,  and  for  the  detection 
of  the  guilty,  I  am  preparing ;  and  I  hope  to  make  these 
as  clear  to  you,  sir,  as  your  majesty's  assurance  of  the 
pleasure  you  feel  in  being  undeceived  is  satisfactory — 
consolatory  to  me,"  concluded  Lord  Oldborough,  with 
a  bow  of  profound  yet  proud  respect. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  king,  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  this 
affair  will  redound  to  your  honour,  and  terminate  to  your 
lordship1  s  entire  satisfaction." 

The  very  phrase  used  by  the  Duke  of  Greenwich, 

"  As  to  myself,  your  lordship  can  have  no  further 
anxiety ;  but  I  wish  your  lordship's  endeavours  to  detect 
and  bring  proofs  home  to  the  guilty  may  be  promptly 
successful — for  the  gratification  of  your  own  feelings, 
and  the  satisfaction  of  the  public  mind,  before  the  mat- 
ter should  be  brought  forward  in  parliament." 

His  majesty  bowed,  and  as  Lord  Oldborough  retired 
he  added  some  gracious  phrases,  expressive  of  the  high 
esteem  he  felt  for  the  minister,  and  the  interest  he  had 
always,  and  should  always,  take  in  whatever  could  con- 
tribute to  his  public  and  private  satisfaction — (again). 

To  an  eye  and  ear  less  practised  in  courts  than  this 
minister's,  all  that  had  been  said  would  have  been  really 
satisfactory:  but  Lord  Oldborough  discerned  a  secret 


PATRONAGE.  30 

embarrassment  in  the  smile,  a  constraint  in  the  manner, 
a  care,  an  effort  to  be  gracious  in  the  language,  a  cau- 
tion, a  rounding  of  the  periods,  a  recurrence  to  technical 
phrases  of  compliment  and  amity,  a  want  of  the  free 
fluent  language  of  the  heart ;  language  which,  as  it  flows, 
whether  from  sovereign  or  subject,  leaves  a  trace  that 
the  art  of  courtier  or  of  monarch  cannot  imitate.  In  all 
attempts  at  such  imitation,  there  is  a  want  of  which 
vanity  and  even  interest  is  not  always  sensible,  but 
which  feeling  perceives  instantly.  Lord  Oldborough 
felt  it — and  twice,  during  this  audience,  he  was  on  the 
point  of  offering  his  resignation,  and  twice,  exerting 
strong  power  over  himself,  he  refrained. 

He  saw  plainly  that  he  was  not  where  he  had  been 
in  the  king's  confidence;  that  his  enemies  had  been  at 
work,  and,  in  some  measure,  had  succeeded ;  that  sus- 
picions had  been  infused  into  the  king's  mind.  That 
his  king  had  doubted  him,  his  majesty  had  confessed — 
and  Lord  Oldborough  discerned  that  there  was  no  genu- 
ine joy  at  the  moment  his  majesty  was  undeceived,  no 
real  anxiety  for  his  honour,  only  the  ostensible  mani- 
festation suitable  to  the  occasion — repeatable — or  re- 
cordable. 

Still  there  was  nothing  of  which  he  could  complain ; 
every  expression,  if  written  down  or  repeated,  must 
have  appeared  proper  and  gracious  from  the  sovereign 
to  his  minister ;  and  for  that  minister  to  resign  at  such 
a  moment,  from  pride  or  pique,  would  have  been  fatal  to 
the  dignity,  perhaps  to  the  integrity,  of  his  character. 

Lord  Oldborough  reasoned  thus  as  he  stood  in  the 
presence  of  the  king,  and  compelled  himself,  during  the 
whole  audience,  and  to  the  last  parting  moment,  to  pre- 
serve an  air  and  tone  of  calm,  respectful  self-possession. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

DURING  Lord  Oldborough's  absence  his  faithful  secre- 
tary had  been  active  in  his  service.  Mr.  Temple  went 
immediately  to  his  friend  Alfred  Percy.  Alfred  had 
just  returned  fatigued  from  the  courts,  and  was  resting 
himselfj  in  conversation  with  his  wife  and  Caroline. 


40  PATRONAGE. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Alfred,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
"  but  I  must  take  you  away  from  these  ladies,  to  consult 
you  on  particular  business." 

"  Oh !  let  the  particular  business  wait  till  he  has  rested 
himself,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  "  unless  it  be  a  matter  of  life 
and  death." 

"  Life  and  death !"  cried  Lady  Frances  Arlington,  run- 
ning in  at  the  open  door — "  Yes,  it  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  ! — Stay,  Mr.  Temple  !  Mr.  Percy !  going  the 
moment  I  come  into  the  room — Impossible  !" 

"  Impossible  it  would  be,"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "  in  any 
other  case ;  but — " 

" '  When  a  lady's  in  the  case, 

You  know  all  other  things  give  place,' " 

cried  Lady  Frances.  "  So,  positively,  gentlemen,  I  stop 
the  way.  But,  Mr.  Temple,  to  comfort  you — for  I  never 
saw  a  man,  gallant  or  ungallant,  look  so  impatient — I 
shall  not  be  able  to  stay  above  a  moment — Thank  you, 
Mrs.  Percy,  I  can't  sit  down — Mrs.  Crabstock,  the 
Grossest  of  Crabstocks  and  stiffest  of  pattern- women,  is 
in  the  carriage  waiting  for  me.  Give  me  joy — I  have 
accomplished  my  purpose,  and  without  Lady  Jane  Gran- 
rille's  assistance — obtained  a  permit  to  go  with  Lady 
Trant,  and  made  her  take  me  to  Lady  Angelica's  last 
night.  Grand  conversazione  ! — Saw  the  German  baron ! 
Caught  both  the  profiles — have  'em  here— defy  you  not 
to  smile.  Look,"  cried  her  ladyship,  drawing  out  of  her 
reticule  a  caricature,  which  she  put  into  Caroline's  hand ; 
and,  while  she  was  looking  at  it,  Lady  Frances  went  on 
speaking  rapidly.  "  Only  a  sketch,  a  scrawl  in  pencil, 
while  they  thought  I  was  copying  a  Sonnet  to  Wisdom 
— on  the  worst  bit  of  paper  too  in  the  world — old  cover 
of  a  letter  I  stole  from  Lady  Trant's  reticule  while  she 
was  at  cards.  Mr.  Temple,  you  shall  see  my  chef- 
d'oeuvre  by-and-by ;  don't  look  at  the  reverse  of  the  medal, 
pray.  Did  not  I  tell  you,  you  were  the  most  impatient 
man  in  the  world  V 

It  was  true  that  Mr.  Temple  was  at  this  instant  most 
impatient  to  get  possession  of  the  paper,  for  on  the  back 
of  that  cover  of  the  letter  on  which  the  caricature  was 
drawn,  the  handwriting  of  the  direction  appeared  to 
him. — He  dared  scarcely  believe  his  eyes — his  hopes. 

"  Mrs.  Crabstock,  my  lady,"  said  the  footman,  "  is 
waiting." 


PATRONAGE.  4 1 

"  I  know,  sir,"  said  Lady  Frances :  "  so,  Caroline,  you 
won't  see  the  likeness.  Very  well ;  if  I  can't  get  a  com- 
pliment I  must  be  off.  When  you  draw  a  caricature,  I 
won't  praise  it.  Here!  Mr.  Temple,  one  look,  since 
you  are  dying  for  it." 

"  One  look  will  not  satisfy  me,"  cried  Mr.  Temple, 
seizing  the  paper :  "  your  ladyship  must  leave  the  draw- 
ing with  us  till  to-morrow." 

"  Us — must.  Given  at  our  court  of  St.  James's.  Lord 
Oldborough's  own  imperative  style." 

"  Imperative !  no ;  humbly  I  beseech  your  ladyship, 
thus  humbly,"  cried  Mr.  Temple,  kneeling  in  jest,  but 
keeping  in  earnest  fast  hold  of  the  paper. 

"  But  why — why  T  Are  you  acquainted  with  Lady 
Angelica.  I  did  not  know  you  knew  her." 

"  It  is  excellent ! — It  is  admirable  ! — I  cannot  let  it  go. 
This  hand  that  seized  it  long  shall  hold  the  prize." 

"  The  man's  mad  !  But  don't  think  I'll  give  it  to  you 
—I  would  not  give  it  to  my  mother :  but  I'll  lend  it  to 
you,  if  you'll  tell  me  honestly  why  you  want  it." 

"  Honestly — I  want  to  show  it  to  a  particular  friend, 
who  will  be  delighted  with  it." 

"  Tell  me  who,  this  minute,  or  you  shall  not  have  it." 

"  Mrs.  Crabstock,  my  lady,  bids  me  say  the  duchess — " 

"  The  duchess — the  deuse  ! — if  she's  come  to  the 
duchess,  I  must  go.  I  hope  your  man,  Mrs.  Percy, 
won't  tell  Mrs.  Crabstock  he  saw  this  gentleman  kneel- 
ing." 

"  Mrs.  Crabstock's  getting  out,  my  lady,"  said  the 
footman,  returning. 

Mr.  Temple,  for  mercy's  sake,  get  up." 

"  Never  till  your  ladyship  gives  the  drawing." 

"  There !  there  !  let  me  go — audacious !" 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  Mrs.  Percy — Good-by,  Caro- 
line— be  at  Lady  Jane's  to-night,  for  I'm  to  be  there." 

Her  ladyship  ran  off,  and  met  Mrs.  Crabstock  on  the 
stairs,  with  whom  we  leave  her  to  make  her  peace  as 
she  pleases. 

"My  dear  Temple,  I  believe  you  are  out  of  your 
senses,"  said  Alfred :  "  I  never  saw  any  man  so  impor- 
tunate about  a  drawing  that  is  not  worth  a  straw — 
trembling  with  eagerness,  and  kneeling ! — Caroline, 
what  do  you  think  Rosamond  would  have  thought  of  all 
this  ?" 

"  If  she  knew  the  whole,  she  would  hare  thought  I 


42  PATRONAGE. 

acted  admirably,"  said  Mr.  Temple.     "  But  come,  I  have 
business." 

Alfred  took  him  into  his  study,  and  there  the  whole 
affair  was  explained.  Mr.  Temple  had  brought  with 
him  the  specimen  of  the  forgery  to  show  to.  Alfred,  and 
upon  comparing  it  with  the  handwriting  on  the  cover  of 
the  letter  on  which  the  caricature  was  drawn,  the  simi- 
larity appeared  to  be  strikingly  exact.  The  cover,  which 
had  been  stolen,  as  Lady  Frances  Arlington  said,  from 
Lady  Trant's  reticule,  was  directed  to  Captain  Nuttall. 
He  was  one  of  the  persons  to  whom  forged  letters  had 
been  written,  as  appeared  by  the  list  which  Lord  Old- 
borough  had  left  with  Mr.  Temple.  The  secretary  was 
almost  certain  that  his  lordship  had  never  written  with 
his  own  hand  to  any  Captain  Nuttall ;  but  this  he  could 
ask  the  moment  he  should  see  Lord  Oldborough  again. 
It  seemed  as  if  this  paper  had  never  been  actually  used 
as  the  cover  of  a  letter,  for  it  had  no  post-mark,  seal,  or 
wafer.  Upon  further  inspection,  it  was  perceived  that 
a  t  had  been  left  out  in  the  name  of  Nuttall;  and  it  ap- 
peared probable  that  the  cover  had  been  thrown  aside, 
and  a  new  one  written,  in  consequence  of  this  omission. 
But  Alfred  did  not  think  it  possible  that  Lady  Trant 
could  be  the  forger  of  these  letters,  because  he  had  seen 
some  of  her  ladyship's  notes  of  invitation  to  Caroline, 
and  they  were  written  in  a  wretched  cramped  hand. 

"  But  that  cramped  hand  might  be  feigned,  to  conceal 
the  powers  of  penmanship,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
v  "  Well !  granting  her  ladyship's  talents  were  equal  to 
the  mere  execution,"  Alfred  persisted  in  thinking  she 
had  not  abilities  sufficient  to  invent  or  combine  all  the 
parts  of  such  a  scheme.  "  She  might  be  an  accomplice, 
but  she  must  have  had  a  principal'— and  who  could  that 
principal  be  V 

The  same  suspicion,  the  same  person,  came  at  the 
same  moment  into  the  heads  of  both  gentlemen,  as  they 
sat  looking  at  each  other. 

"  There  is  an  intimacy  between  them,"  said  Alfred. 
"  Recollect  all  the  pains  Lady  Trant  took  for  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner about  English  Clay—they — " 

"  Mrs.  Falconer  !  But  how  could  she  possibly  get  at 
Lord  Oldborough's  private  seal— a  seal  that  is  always 
locked  up — a  seal  never  used  to  any  common  letter, 
never  to  any  but  those  written  by  his  own  hand  to  some 
private  friend,  and  on  some  very  particular  occasion  T 


PATRONAGE.  43 

Since  I  have  been  with  him  I  have  not  seen  him  use 
that  seal  three  times." 

"  When  and  to  whom  1  can  you  recollect '"  said  Alfred. 

"I  recollect! — I  have  it  all!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Temple, 
striking  the  table — "  I  have  it  1  But  Lady  Frances  Ar- 
lington— I  am  sorry  she  is  gone." 

"  Why !  what  of  her  *  Lady  Frances  can  have  no- 
thing more  to  do  with  the  business." 

"  She  has  a  great  deal  more,  I  can  assure  you — but 
without  knowing  it." 

"  Of  that  I  am  certain,  or  all  the  world  would  have 
known  it  long  ago :  but  tell  me  how." 

"  I  recollect  at  the  time  when  I  was  dangling  after 
Lady  Frances — there's  good  in  every  thing — just  before 
we  went  down  to  Falconer-court,  her  ladyship,  who, 
you  know,  has  always  some  reigning  fancy,  was  dis- 
tracted about  what  she  called  bread-seals.  She  took  off 
the  impression  of  seals  with  breads-no  matter  how,  but 
she  did — and  used  to  torment  me— no,  I  thought  it  a 
great  pleasure  at  the  time — to  procure  for  her  all  the 
pretty  seals  I  could." 

"  But,  surely,  you  did  not  give  her  Lord  Oldbor- 
ough's  1" 

"  I ! — not  I ! — how  could  you  imagine  such  a  thing !" 

"  You  were  in  love,  and  might  have  forgotten  conse- 
quences." 

"  A  man  in  love  may  forget  every  thing,  I  grant — 
except  his  fidelity.  No,  I  never  gave  the  seal ;  but  I 
perfectly  recollect  Lady  Frances  showing  it  to  me  in  her 
collection,  and  my  asking  her  how  she  came  by  it." 

"  And  how  did  she  V 

"  From  the  cover  of  a  note  which  the  duke,  her  uncle, 
had  received  from  Lord  Oldborough ;  and  I,  at  the  time, 
remembered  his  lordship's  having  written  it  to  the  Duke 
of  Greenwich  on  the  birth  of  his  grandson.  Lord  Old- 
borough  had,  upon  a  former  occasion,  affronted  his  grace 
by  sending  him  a  note  sealed  with  a  wafer — this  time 
his  lordship  took  special  care,  and  sealed  it  with  his 
private  seal  of  honour." 

"  Well !  but  how  does  this  bring  the  matter  home  to 
Mrs.  Falconer  V'  said  Alfred. 

"  Stay — I  am  bringing  it  as  near  home  to  her  as  pos- 
sible. We  all  went  down  to  Falconer-court  together; 
and  there  I  remember  Lady  Frances  had  her  collection 
of  bread-seals,  and  was  daubing  and  colouring  them  with 


44  PATRONAGE. 

vermilion — and  Mrs.  Falconer  was  so  anxious  about 
them — and  Lady  Frances  gave  her  several — I  must  see 
Lady  Frances  again  directly,  to  inquire  whether  she 
gave  her,  among  the  rest,  Lord  Oldborough's — I'll  go  to 
Lady  Jane  Granville's  this  evening  on  purpose.  But  had 
I  not  better  go  this  moment  to  Lady  Trant  1" 

Alfred  advised,  that  having  traced  the  matter  thus  far, 
they  should  not  hazard  giving  any  alarm  to  Lady  Trant 
or  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  but  should  report  to  Lord  Old- 
borough  what  progress  had  been  made. 

Mr.  Temple  accordingly  went  home,  to  be  in  readi- 
ness for  his  lordship's  return.  In  the  mean  time  the 
first  exaltation  of  indignant  pride  having  subsided,  and 
his  cool  judgment  reflecting  upon  what  had  passed,  Lord 
Oldborough  considered  that,  however  satisfactory  to  his 
own  mind  might  be  the  feeling  of  his  innocence,  the 
proofs  of  it  were  necessary  to  satisfy  the  public ;  he 
saw  that  his  character  would  be  left  doubtful,  and  at  the 
mercy  of  his  enemies,  if  he  were  in  pique  and  resent- 
ment hastily  to  resign,  before  he  had  vindicated  his  in- 
tegrity. "  If  your  proofs  be  produced,  my  lord !" — these 
words  recurred  to  him,  and  his  anxiety  to  obtain  these 
proofs  rose  high ;  and  high  was  his  satisfaction  the  mo- 
ment he  saw  his  secretary,  for  by  the  first  glance  at  Mr. 
Temple's  countenance  he  perceived  that  some  discovery 
had  been  made. 

Alfred,  that  night,  received  through  Mr.  Temple  his 
lordship's  request  that  he  would  obtain  what  further 
information  he  could  relative  to  the  private  seal,  in  what- 
ever way  he  thought  most  prudent.  His  lordship  trusted 
entirely  to  his  discretion — Mr.  Temple  was  engaged  with 
other  business. 

Alfred  went  with  Caroline  to  Lady  Jane  Granville's, 
to  meet  Lady  Frances  Arlington ;  he  entered  into  con- 
versation, and  by  degrees  brought  her  to  his  point, 
playing  all  the  time  with  her  curiosity,  and  humouring 
her  childishness,  while  he  carried  on  his  cross-exami- 
nation. 

At  first  she  could  not  recollect  any  thing  about  making 
the  seals  he  talked  of.  "  It  was  a  fancy  that  had  passed ; 
and  a  past  fancy,"  she  said,  "  was  like  a  past  love,  or 
a  past  beauty — good  for  nothing  but  to  be  forgotten.** 
However,  by  proper  leading  of  the  witness,  and  suggest- 
ing time,  place,  and  circumstance,  he  did  bring  to  the  fair 
lady's  mind  all  that  he  wanted  her  to  remember.  She 


PATRONAGE.  45 

could  not  conceive  what  interest  Mr.  Percy  could  take  in 
the  matter — it  was  some  jest  about  Mr.  Temple,  she  was 
sure.  Yes,  she  did  recollect  a  seal  with  a  Cupid  riding 
a  lion,  that  Mr.  Temple  gave  her  just  before  they  went 
to  Falconer-court — was  that  what  he  meant  ! 

"  No — but  a  curious  seal — "  (Alfred  described  the 
device.) 

"  Lord  Oldborough's !  Yes,  there  was  some  such 
odd  seal."  But  it  was  not  given  to  her  by  Mr.  Temple 
— she  took  that  from  a  note  to  her  uncle,  the  Duke  of 
Greenwich. 

Yes — that,  Alfred  said,  he  knew ;  but  what  did  her 
ladyship  do  with  it  ! 

"  You  know  how  I  got  it !  Bless  me,  you  seem  to 
know  every  thing  I  do  and  say.  You  know  my  affairs 
vastly  well — you  act  the  conjurer  admirably — pray,  can 
you  tell  me  who  I  am  to  marry  ?" 

"  That  I  will — when  your  ladyship  has  told  me  to 
whom  you  gave  that  seal." 

"  That  I  would,  and  welcome,  if  I  could  recollect — 
but  I  really  can't.  If  you  think  I  gave  it  to  Mr. 
Temple,  I  assure  you  you  are  mistaken — you  may  ask 
him." 

"  I  know  your  ladyship  did  not  give  it  to  Mr.  Temple 
— but  to  whom  did  you  give  it!" 

"  I  remember  now — not  to  any  gentleman,  after  all — 
you  are  positively  out.  I  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  You  are  certain  of  that,  Lady  Frances  Arlington !" 

"I  am  certain,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy." 

"And  how  can  you  prove  it  to  me,  Lady  Frances?" 

"  The  easiest  way  in  the  world — by  asking  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. Only  I  don't  go  there  now  much  since  Georgi- 
ana  and  I  have  quarrelled — but  what  can  make  you  so 
curious  about  it  ?" 

"  That's  a  secret." 

At  the  word  secret  her  attention  was  fixed. 

"  May  I  ask  if  your  ladyship  would  know  the  seal 
again  if  you  saw  it ! — Is  this  any  thing  like  the  impres- 
sion 1"  (showing  her  the  seal  on  the  forged  cover.) 

"  The  very  same  that  I  gave  Mrs.  Falconer,  I'll  swear 
to  it — I'll  tell  you  how  I  know  it  particularly.  There's 
a  little  outer  rim  here,  with  points  to  it,  which  there  is 
not  to  the  other.  I  fastened  my  bread-seal  into  an  old 
setting  of  my  own,  from  which  I  had  lost  the  stone. 


46  PATRONAGE. 

Mrs.  Falconer  took  a  fancy  to  it,  among  a  number  of 
others,  so  I  let  her  have  it.  Now  I  have  answered  all 
your  questions — answer  mine — Who  am  I  to  marry  ?" 

"  Your  ladyship  will  marry  whoever — your  ladyship 
pleases." 

"  That  was  an  ambiguous  answer,"  she  observed ; 
"  for  that  she  pleased  everybody." 

Her  ladyship  was  going  to  run  on  with  some  further 
questions,  but  Alfred,  pretending  that  the  oracle  was  not 
permitted  to  answer  more  explicitly,  left  her  completely 
in  the  dark  as  to  what  his  meaning  had  been  in  this  whole 
conversation. 

He  reported  progress  to  Lord  Oldborough — and  his 
lordship  slept  as  soundly  this  night  as  he  did  the  night 
after  he  had  been  attacked  by  the  mob. 

The  next  morning  the  first  person  he  desired  to  see 
was  Mr.  Falconer — his  lordship  sent  for  him  into  his 
cabinet. 

"  Mr.  Commissioner  Falconer,  I  promised  to  give  you 
notice  whenever  I  should  see  any  probability  of  my 
going  out  of  power." 

"  Good  Heaven !  my  lord,"  exclaimed  the  commis- 
sioner, starting  back.  The  surprise,  the  consternation 
were  real — Lord  Oldborough  had  his  eye  upon  him,  to 
determine  that  point. 

"  Impossible,  surely ! — I  hope — " 

His  hope  flitted  at  the  moment  to  the  Duke  of  Green- 
wich— but  returned  instantly :  he  had  made  no  terms — 
had  missed  his  time.  If  Lord  Oldborough  should  go  out 
of  office — his  place,  his  pension  gone — utter  ruin. 

Lord  Oldborough  marked  the  vacillation  and  con- 
fusion of  his  countenance,  and  saw  that  he  was  quite 
unprepared. 

"  I  hope — Merciful  Powers !  I  trust — I  thought  your 
lordship  had  triumphed  over  all  your  enemies,  and  was 
firmer  in  favour  and  power  than  ever.  What  can  have 
occurred  1" 

Without  making  any  answer,  Lord  Oldborough  beck- 
oned to  the  commissioner  to  approach  nearer  the  win- 
dow where  his  lordship  was  standing,  and  then  suddenly 
put  into  his  hand  the  cover  with  the  forged  handwriting 
and  seal. 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  this,  my  lord  ?"  said 
the  bewildered  commissioner,  turning  it  backwards  and 


PATRONAGE.  4? 

forwards.  "  Captain  Nuttall ! — I  never  saw  the  man  in 
my  life.  May  I  ask,  my  lord,  what  I  am  to  comprehend 
from  this  ?" 

"  I  see,  sir,  that  you  know  nothing  of  the  business." 

The  whole  was  explained  by  Lord  Oldborough  suc- 
cinctly. The  astonishment  and  horror  in  the  poor  com- 
missioner's countenance  and  gestures,  and,  still  more, 
the  eagerness  with  which  he  begged  to  be  permitted  to 
try  to  discover  the  authors  of  this  forgery,  were  sufficient 
proofs  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that  the 
guilt  could  be  traced  to  any  of  his  own  family. 

Lord  Oldborough's  look,  fixed  on  the  commissioner, 
expressed  what  it  had  once  before  expressed — "  Sir,  from 
my  soul,  I  pity  you !" 

The  commissioner  saw  this  look,  and  wondered  why 
Lord  Oldborough  should  pity  him  at  a  time  when  all  his 
lordship's  feelings  should  naturally  be  for  himself. 

"  My  lord,  I  would  engage  we  shall  discover — we  shall 
trace  it." 

"  I  believe  that  I  have  discovered — that  I  have  traced 
it,"  said  Lord  Oldborough ;  and  he  sighed. 

Now  that  sigh  was  more  incomprehensible  to  the 
commissioner  than  all  the  rest,  and  he  stood  with  his 
lips  open  for  a  moment,  before  he  could  utter,  "  Why 
then  resign,  my  lord  V 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  said  Lord  Oldborough.  "  Let  us, 
if  you  please,  sir,  think  of  yours  ;  for,  probably,  this  is 
the  only  time  I  shall  ever  more  have  it  in  my  power  to 
be  of  the  least  service  to  you." 

"  Oh !  my  lord — my  lord,  don't  say  so  !"  said  the  com- 
missioner,  quite  forgetting  all  his  artificial  manner,  and 
speaking  naturally :  "  the  last  time  you  shall  have  it  in 
your  power  ! — Oh !  my  dear  lord,  don't  say  so !" 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  must.  It  gives  me  pain — you  see  it 
does." 

"  At  such  a  time  as  this  to  think  of  me  instead  of 
yourself !  My  lord,  I  never  knew  you  till  this  moment 
— so  well." 

"  Nor  I  you,  sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough.  "  It  is  the 
more  unfortunate  for  us  both,  that  our  connexion  and 
intercourse  must  now  for  ever  cease." 

"  Never,  never,  my  lord,  if  you  were  to  go  out  of 
power  to-morrow — which  Heaven,  in  its  mercy  and  jus- 
tice, forbid !  I  could  never  forget  the  goodness — I  would 
never  desert-^in  spite  of  all  interest — I  should  continue 


48  PATRONAGE. 

—I  hope  your  lordship  would  permit  me  to  pay  my  duty 
— all  intercourse  could  never  cease." 

Lord  Oldborough  saw,  and  almost  smiled  at  the  strug- 
gle between  the  courtier  and  the  man — the  confusion  in 
the  commissioner's  mind  between  his  feelings  and  his 
interest.  Partly  his  lordship  relieved,  and  partly  he 
pained  Mr.  Falconer,  by  saying,  in  his  firm  tone,  "  I 
thank  you,  Mr.  Falconer;  but  all  intercourse  must  cease. 
After  this  hour,  we  meet  no  more.  I  beg  you,  sir,  to 
collect  your  spirits,  and  to  listen  to  me  calmly.  Before 
this  day  is  at  an  end,  you  will  understand  why  all  further 
intercourse  between  us  would  be  useless  to  your  inter- 
est, and  incompatible  with  my  honour.  Before  many 
hours  are  past,  a  blow  will  be  struck  which  will  go  to 
your  heart — for  I  see  you  have  one — and  deprive  you 
of  the  power  of  thought.  It  is  my  wish  to  make  that 
blow  fall  as  lightly  upon  you  as  possible." 

"  Oh !  my  lord,  your  resignation  would  indeed  be  a 
blow  I  could  never  recover.  The  bare  apprehension 
deprives  me  at  this  moment  of  all  power  of  thought ;  but 
still  I  hope—" 

"  Hear  me,  sir,  I  beg,  without  interruption  :  it  is  my 
business  to  think  for  you.  Go  immediately  to  the  Duke 
of  Greenwich,  make  what  terms  with  him  you  can — 
make  what  advantage  you  can  of  the  secret  of  my  ap- 
proaching resignation — a  secret  I  now  put  in  your  power 
to  communicate  to  his  grace,  and  which  no  one  yet  sus- 
pects— I  having  told  it  to  no  one  living  but  to  yourself. 
Go  quickly  to  the  duke — time  presses — I  wish  you  suc- 
cess— and  a  better  patron  than  I  have  been,  than  my 
principles  would  permit  me  to  be.  Farewell,  Mr.  Fal- 
coner." 

The  commissioner  moved  towards  the  door  when 
Lord  Oldborough  said  "  time  presses ;"  but  the  commis- 
sioner stopped — turned  back — could  not  go :  the  tears — 
real  tears — rolled  down  his  cheeks — Lord  Oldborough 
went  forward,  and.  held  out  his  hand  to  him — the  com- 
missioner kissed  it,  with  the  reverence  with  which  he 
would  have  kissed  his  sovereign's  hand ;  and  bowing,  he 
involuntarily  backed  to  the  door,  as  if  quitting  the  pres- 
ence of  majesty. 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  man  was  bred  a  mere  courtier,  and 
that  he  is  cursed  with  a  family  on  none  of  whom  there 
is  any  dependence,"  thought  Lord  Oldborough,  as  the 
door  closed  upon  the  commissioner  for  ever. 


PATRONAGE.  49 

Lord  Oldborough  delayed  an  hour  purposely  to  give 
Mr.  Falconer  advantage  of  the  day  with  the  Duke  of 
Greenwich :  then  ordered  his  carriage,  and  drove  to — 
Mrs.  Falconer's. 

Great  was  her  surprise  at  the  minister's  entrance. — 
"  Concerned  the  commissioner  was  not  at  home," 
"  My  business  is  with  Mrs.  Falconer." 
"  My  lord — your  lordship — the  honour  and  the  pleas- 
ure of  a  visit.     Georgiana,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Falconer  nodded  to  her  daughter,  who  most 
unwillingly,  and  as  if  dying  with  curiosity,  retired. 

The  smile  died  away  upon  Mrs.  Falconer's  lips  as  she 
observed  the  stern  gravity  of  Lord  Oldborough's  coun- 
tenance. She  moved  a  chair  towards  his  lordship — he 
stood,  and  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  paused  as 
he  looked  at  her. 

"  What  is  to  come  1  Cunningham,  perhaps,"  thought 
Mrs.  Falconer;  "or  perhaps  something  about  John. 
When  will  he  speak  ? — I  can't — I  must.  I  am  happy  to 
see  your  lordship  looking  so  well." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Falconer  acquainted  with  Lady  Trant  1" 
"  Lady  Trant- — yes,  my  lord." 

"  Mercy  !     Is  it  possible ! — No,  for  her  own  sake  she 
would  not  betray  me,"  thought  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  Intimately  V  said  Lord  Oldborough. 
"  Intimately — that  is,  as  one's  intimate  with  everybody 
of  a  certain  sort — one  visits — but  no  further — I  can't 
say  I  have  the  honour — " 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  so  distracted  by  seeing  Lord  Old- 
borough  searching  in  his  pocket-book  for  a  letter,  that 
in  spite  of  all  her  presence  of  mind,  she  knew  not  what 
she  said ;  and  all  her  presence  of  countenance  failed, 
when  Lord  Oldborough  placed  before  her  eyes  the  cover 
directed  to  Captain  Nuttall. 

"  Can  you  guess  how  this  came  into  Lady  Trant's 
possession,  madam  V 

"  I  protest,  my  lord,"  her  voice  trembling  in  spite  of 
her  utmost  efforts  to  command  it,  "  I  don't  know — nor 
can  I  conceive — " 

"  Nor  can  you  conceive  by  whom  it  was  written, 
madam  ?" 

"  It  appears — it  bears  a  resemblance — some  likeness 
— as  far  as  I  recollect — but  it  is  so  long  since  I  have 
seen  your  lordship's  own  hand — and  hands  are  so  like— 
VOL.  XVI.— C 


50  PATRONAGE. 

sometimes — and  I  am  so  bad  a  judge — every  hand,  all 
fashionable  hands,  are  so  like." 

*'  And  every  seal  like  every  seal  V  said  Lord  Oldbor- 
ough,  placing  the  counterfeit  seal  before  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  I  recommend  it  to  you,  madam,  to  waste  no  further 
time  in  evasion;  but  to  deliver  to  me  the  counterpart 
of  this  seal,  the  impression  of  my  private  seal,  which 
you  had  from  Lady  Frances  Arlington." 

"A  mere  bread-seal!  Her  ladyship  surely  has  not 
said — I  really  have  lost  it — if  I  ever  had  it — I  declare 
your  lordship  terrifies  me  so,  by  this  strange  mode — " 

"  I  recommend  it  to  you  once  more,  madam,  and  for 
the  last  time  I  earnestly  recommend  it  to  you,  to  deliver 
up  to  me  that  seal,  for  I  have  sworn  to  my  belief  that  it 
is  in  your  possession ;  a  warrant  will  in  consequence  be 
issued,  to  seize  and  search  your  papers.  The  purport 
of  my  present  visit,  of  which  I  should  gladly  have  been 
spared  the  pain,  is  to  save  you.  madam,  from  the  public 
disgrace  of  having  a  warrant  executed.  Do  not  faint, 
madam,  if  you  can  avoid  it,  nor  go  into  hysterics ;  for  if 
you  do,  I  must  retire,  and  the  warrant  must  be  executed. 
Your  best  course  is  to  open  that  desk,  to  give  me  up  the 
seal,  to  make  to  me  at  this  instant  a  full  confession  of  all 
you  know  of  this  transaction.  If  you  do  thus,  for  your 
husband's  sake,  madam,  I  will,  as  far  as  I  can  consist- 
ently with  what  is  due  to  myself,  spare  you  the  shame 
of  an  arrest." 

Mrs.  Falconer,  with  trembling  hands,  unlocked  the 
desk  and  delivered  the  seal. 

"  And  a  letter  which  I  see  in  this  same  handwriting, 
madam,  if  you  please." 

She  gave  it;  and  then,  unable  to  support  herself 
longer,  sank  upon  a  sofa :  but  she  neither  fainted  nor 
screamed — she  was  aware  of  the  consequences.  Lord 
Oldborough  opened  the  window  to  give  her  air.  She 
was  relieved  by  a  burst  of  tears,  and  was  silent — and 
nothing  was  heard  but  her  sobs,  which  she  endeavoured 
to  suppress  in  vain.  She  was  more  relieved  on  looking 
up  by  one  glance  at  Lord  Oldbo rough's  countenance, 
where  she  saw  compassion  working  strongly. 

But  before  she  could  take  any  advantage  of  it,  the 
expression  was  changed,  the  feeling  was  controlled :  he 
was  conscious  of  its  weakness — he  recollected  what 
public  justice,  and  justice  to  his  own  character,  required 


PATRONAGE.  51 

—he  recollected  all  the  treachery,  the  criminality  of 
which  she  had  been  guilty. 

"  Madam,  you  are  not  now  in  a  condition,  I  see,  to 
explain  yourself  further — I  will  relieve  you  from  my 
presence :  my  reproaches  you  will  never  hear ;  but  I 
shall  expect  from  you,  before  one  hour,  such  an  avowal 
in  writing  of  this  whole  transaction  as  may,  with  the 
written  confession  of  Lady  Trant,  afford  the  proofs 
which  are  due  to  my  sovereign,  and  to  the  public,  of 
my  integrity." 

Mrs.  Falconer  bowed  her  head,  covered  her  face, 
clasped  her  hands  in  agony  :  as  Lord  Oldborough  retired, 
she  sprang  up,  followed  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet,  yet 
without  knowing  what  she  could  say. 

"  The    commissioner   is   innocent ! — If  you  forsake 

him,  he  is  undone — all,  all  of  us,  utterly  ruined !     Oh  ! 

Georgiana !  Georgiana !  where  are  you  1  speak  for  me  !" 

Georgiana  was  in  an  inner  apartment,  trying  on  a  new 

robe  a,  la  Georgienne. 

"  Whatever  you  may  wish  further  to  say  to  me, 
madam,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  disengaging  himself 
from  her,  and  passing  decidedly  on,  before  Georgiana 
appeared,  "you  will  put  in  writing,  and  let  me  have 
within  this  hour — or  never." 

Within  that  hour  Commissioner  Falconer  brought  for 
Lord  Oldborough  the  paper  his  wife  had  drawn  up,  but 
which  he  was  obliged  to  deliver  to  Mr.  Temple ;  for 
Lord  Oldborough  had  so  ordered,  and  his  lordship  per- 
severed in  refusing  to  see  him  more.  Mrs.  Falconer's 
paper  was  worded  with  all  the  art  and  address  of  which 
she  was  mistress,  and  all  the  pathos  she  could  command 
— Lord  Oldborough  looked  only  for  facts — these  he 
marked  with  his  pencil,  and  observed  where  they  cor- 
roborated and  where  they  differed  from  Lady  Trant's 
confession,  which  Mr.  Temple  had  been  charged  to 
obtain  during  his  lordship's  visit  to  Mrs.  Falconer.  The 
greater  part  of  the  night  Lord  Oldborough  and  Mr.  Alfred 
Percy  were  employed  arranging  these  documents  so 
as  to  put  the  proofs  in  the  clearest  and  shortest  form, 
to  be  laid  before  his  majesty  the  succeeding  day. 

It  appeared  that  Mrs.  Falconer  had  been  first  tempted 
to  these  practices  by  the  distress  for  money  into  which 
extravagant  entertainments,  or,  as  she  stated,  the  ex- 
penses incident  to  her  situation — expenses  which  far 
exceeded  her  income — had  led  her.  It  was  supposed, 
C2 


52  PATRONAGE. 

from  her  having  kept  open  house  at  times  for  the  min- 
ister, that  she  and  the  commissioner  had  great  influence; 
she  had  been  applied  to — presents  had  been  offered,  and 
she  had  long  withstood.  But,  at  length,  Lady  Trant 
acting  in  concert  with  her,  they  had  been  supplied  with 
information  by  a  clerk  in  one  of  the  offices,  a  relation 
of  Lady  Trant,  who  was  a  vain,  incautious  youth,  and,  it 
seems,  did  not  know  the  use  made  of  his  indiscretion: 
he  told  what  promotions  he  heard  spoken  of — what 
commissions  were  making  out.  The  ladies  prophesied, 
and  their  prophecies  being  accomplished,  they  gained 
credit.  For  some  time  they  kept  themselves  behind  the 
scenes — and  many,  applying  to  A.  B.,  and  dealing  with 
they  did  not  know  whom,  paid  for  promotions  which 
would  have  come  unpaid  for ;  others  paid,  and  were 
never  promoted,  and  wrote  letters  of  reproach — Captain 
Nuttall  was  among  these,  and  he  it  was  who,  finding 
himself  duped,  first  stirred  in  the  business ;  and  by 
means  of  an  active  member  of  opposition,  to  whom  he 
made  known  his  secret  grievance,  brought  the  whole  to 
light. 

The  proofs  arranged  (and  Lord  Oldborough  never  slept 
till  they  were  perfected),  he  reposed  tranquilly.  The 
next  day,  asking  an  audience  of  his  majesty,  he  simply 
laid  the  papers  on  his  majesty's  table,  observing  that  he 
had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  succeed  in  tracing  the  for- 
gery, and  that  he  trusted  these  papers  contained  all  the 
necessary  proofs. 

His  lordship  bowed  and  retired  instantly,  leaving  his 
majesty  to  examine  the  papers  alone. 

The  resolution  to  resign  his  ministerial  station  had 
long  been  forming  in  Lord  Oldborough's  mind.  It  was 
not  a  resolution  taken  suddenly  in  pride  or  pique,  but 
after  reflection,  and  upon  strong  reasons.  It  was  a  mea- 
sure which  he  had  long  been  revolving  in  his  secret 
thoughts.  During  the  enthusiasm  of  political  life,  the 
proverbial  warnings  against  the  vanity  of  ambition,  and 
the  danger  of  dependence  on  the  favour  of  princes,  had 
passed  on  his  ear  but  as  a  schoolboy's  lesson :  a  phrase 
"  to  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale."  He  was  not  a  read- 
ing man,  and  the  maxims  of  books  he  disregarded  or 
disbelieved ;  but  in  the  observations  he  made  for  him- 
self he  trusted :  the  lessons  he  drew  from  life  were 
never  lost  upon  him,  and  he  acted  in  consequence  of 
that  which  he  believed,  with  a  decision,  vigour,  and 


PATRONAGE.  53 

invariability  seldom  found  even   among  philosophers. 
Of  late  years  he  had,  in  real  life,  seen  striking  instances 
of  the  treachery  of  courtiers,  and  had  felt  some  symp- 
toms of  insecurity  in  the  smile  of  princes.     Fortune  had 
been  favourable  to  him — she  was  fickle — he  determined 
to  quit  her  before  she  should  change.     Ambition,  it  is 
true,  had  tempted  him — he  had  risen  to  her  highest  pin- 
nacle :    he  would  not  be  hurled  from  high — he  would 
descend  voluntarily,  and  with  dignity.  Lord  Oldborough's 
habits  of  thought  were  as  different  as  possible  from  those 
of  a  metaphysician:   he  had  reflected  less   upon  the 
course  of  his  own  mind  than  upon  almost  any  other 
subject ;  but  lie  knew  human  nature  practically  ;  disqui- 
sitions on  habit,  passion,  or  the  sovereign  good  were 
unread  by  him,  nor,  in  the  course  of  his  life,  had  he 
ever  formed  a  system,  moral  or  prudential ;  but  the  same 
penetration,  the  same  longanimity,  which  enabled  him  to 
govern  the  affairs  of  a  great  nation,  gave  him,  when  his 
attention  turned  towards  himself,  a  foresight  for  his  own 
happiness.     In  the  meridian  of  life,  he  had  cherished 
ambition,  as  the  only  passion  that  could  supply  him  with 
motive  strong  enough  to  call  great  powers  into  great 
action.     But  of  late  years  he  had  felt  something,  not 
only  of  the  waywardness  of  fortune,  but  of  the  ap- 
proaches of  age — not  in  his  mind,  but  in  his  health,  which 
had  suffered  by  his  exertions.    The  attacks  of  hereditary 
gout  had  become  more  violent  and  more  frequent.     If 
he  lived,  these  would,  probably,  at  seasons,  often  inca- 
pacitate him  from  his  arduous  ministerial  duties  :  much, 
that  he  did  well,  must  be  ill  done  by  deputy.     He  had 
ever  reprobated  the  practice  of  leaving  the  business  of 
the  nation  to  be  done  by  clerks  and  underlings  in  office. 
Yet  to  this  the  minister,  however  able,  however  honest, 
must  come  at  last,  if  he  persist  in  engrossing  business 
and  power  beyond  what  an  individual  can  wield.     Love 
for  his  country,  a  sense  of  his  own  honour,  integrity, 
and  consistency,  here  combined  to  determine  this  great 
minister  to  retire  while  it  was  yet  time — to  secure,  at 
once,  the  dignity  and  happiness  of  the  evening  of  life. 
The  day  had  been  devoted  to  good  and  high  purposes — 
that  was  enough — he  could  now,  self-satisfied  and  full 
of  honour,  bid  adieu  to  ambition.     This  resolution,  once 
formed,  was  fixed.     In  vain  even  his  sovereign  en- 
deavoured to  dissuade  him  from  carrying  it  into  exe- 
cution. 


54  PATRONAGE. 

When  the  king  had  examined  the  papers  which  Lord 
Oldborough  had  laid  before  him,  his  majesty  sent  for  his 
lordship  again,  and  the  moment  the  minister  entered  the 
cabinet,  his  majesty  expressed  his  perfect  satisfaction 
in  seeing  that  his  lordship  had,  with  so  little  trouble, 
and  with  his  usual  ability,  got  to  the  bottom  of  this 
affair. 

What  was  to  be  done  next  1 — The  Duke  of  Greenwich 
was  to  be  summoned.  His  grace  was  in  astonishment 
when  he  saw  the  papers  which  contained  Lord  Old- 
borough's  complete  vindication,  and  the  crimination  of 
Mrs.  Falconer.  Through  the  whole,  as  he  read  on,  his 
grace  had  but  one  idea,  viz.  "  Commissioner  Falconer 
has  deceived  me  with  false  intelligence  of  the  intended 
resignation."  Not  one  word  was  said  by  Lord  Old- 
borough  to  give  his  grace  hope  of  that  event — till  the 
member  of  opposition  by  whom  the  forged  letters  had 
been  produced — till  all  those  who  knew  or  had  heard 
any  thing  of  the  transaction  were  clearly  and  fully  ap- 
prized of  the  truth.  After  this  was  established,  and  that 
all  saw  Lord  Oldborough  clear  and  bright  in  honour,  and, 
at  least  apparently,  as  firm  in  power  as  he  had  ever  been, 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  sovereign  his  lordship  begged 
permission  to  resign. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  effect  of  misrepresent- 
ation to  lower  Lord  Oldborough's  favour,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  spoke  of  retiring,  his  king  recollected  all 
his  past  services — all  that  must,  in  future,  be  hazarded 
and  lost  in  parting  with  such  a  minister — so  eminent  in 
abilities,  of  such  tried  integrity,  of  such  fidelity,  such 
attachment  to  his  person,  such  a  zealous  supporter  of 
royalty,  such  a  favourite  with  his  people,  so  successful 
as  well  as  so  able  a  minister !  Never  was  he  so  much 
valued  as  at  this  moment.  All  his  sovereign's  early 
attachment  returned  in  full  strength  and  warmth. 

"  No,  my  lord,  you  must  not — you  will  not  leave 
me." 

These  simple  words,  spoken  with  the  warmth  of  the 
heart,  touched  Lord  Oldborough  more  than  can  be  told. 
It  was  difficult  to  resist  them,  especially  when  he  saw 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  monarch  whom  he  loved. 

But  his  resolution  was  taken.  He  thanked  his  majesty, 
not  with  the  commonplace  thanks  of  courtiers,  but  with 
his  whole  heart  and  soul  he  thanked  his  majesty  for  this 
gracious  condescension — this  testimony  of  approbation 


PATRONAGE.  55 

— these  proofs  of  sensibility  to  his  attachment,  which 
paid — overpaid  him,  in  a  moment,  for  the  labours  of  a 
life.  The  recollection  of  them  would  be  the  glory,  the 
solace  of  his  age— could  never  leave  his  memory  while 
life  lasted — would,  he  thought,  be  present  to  him,  if  he 
should  retain  his  senses,  in  his  dying  moment.  But  he 
was,  in  the  midst  of  this  strong  feeling,  firm  to  the  reso- 
lution his  reason  had  taken.  He  humbly  represented, 
that  he  had  waited  for  a  favourable  time,  when  the  affairs 
of  the  country  were  in  a  prosperous  train,  when  there 
were  few  difficulties  to  embarrass  those  whom  his 
majesty  might  name  to  succeed  to  his  place  at  the  head 
of  administration  :  there  were  many  who  were  ambitious 
of  that  station — zeal,  talents,  and  the  activity  of  youth 
were  at  his  majesty's  command.  For  himself,  he  found 
it  necessary  for  his  health  and  happiness  to  retire  from 
public  business ;  and  to  resign  the  arduous  trust  with 
which  he  had  been  honoured. 

"  My  lord,  if  I  must  accept  of  your  resignation,  I  must 
— but  I  do  it  with  regret.  Is  there  any  thing  your  lord- 
ship wishes — any  thing  you  will  name  for  yourself  or 
your  friends,  that  I  can  do,  to  show  my  sense  of  your 
services  and  merit  1" 

"  For  myself,  your  majesty's  bounty  has  left  me  no- 
thing to  wish." 

"  For  your  friends,  then,  my  lord  ? — Let  me  have  the 
satisfaction  of  obliging  you  through  them." 

Nothing  could  be  more  gracious  or  more  gratifying 
than  the  whole  of  this  parting  audience.  It  was  Lord 
Oldborough's  last  audience. 

The  news  of  his  resignation,  quickly  whispered  at 
court,  was  not  that  day  publicly  known  or  announced. 
The  next  morning  his  lordship's  door  was  crowded  be- 
yond example  in  the  memory  of  ministers.  Mr.  Temple, 
by  his  lordship's  order,  announced  as  soon  as  possible 
the  minister's  having  resigned.  All  were  in  astonish, 
ment — many  in  sorrow :  some  few — a  very  few  of  the 
most  insignificant  of  the  crowd,  persons  incapable  of 
generous  sympathy,  who  thought  they  could  follow  their 
own  paltry  interests  unnoticed — left  the  room,  without 
paying  their  farewell  respects  to  this  great  minister — 
minister  now  no  more. 

The  moment  he  appeared,  there  was  sudden  silence. 
All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  every  one  pressing  to  get 
into  the  circle. 


56  PATRONAGE. 

"  Gentlemen,  thank  you  for  these  marks  of  attention 
— of  regard.  Mr.  Temple  has  told  you — you  know,  my 
friends,  that  I  am  a  man  without  power." 

"We  know,"  answered  a  distinguished  gentleman, 
"  that  you  are  Lord  Oldborough.  With  or  without  power, 
the  same  in  the  eyes  of  your  friends,  and  of  the  British 
nation." 

Lord  Oldborough  bowed  low,  and  looked  gratified. 
His  lordship  then  went  round  the  circle  with  an  air  more 
cheerful,  more  free  from  reserve,  than  usual ;  with 
something  in  his  manner  more  of  sensibility,  but  nothing 
less  of  dignity.  All  who  merited  distinction  he  distin- 
guished by  some  few  appropriate  words,  which  each 
remembered  afterward,  and  repeated  to  their  families 
and  friends.  He  spoke  or  listened  to  each  individual 
with  the  attention  of  one  who  is  courting,  not  quitting, 
popularity.  Free  from  that  restraint  and  responsibility 
which  his  public  and  ministerial  duties  had  imposed  upon 
him,  he  now  entered  into  the  private  concerns  of  all, 
and  gave  his  parting  assistance  or  counsel.  He  noted 
all  grievances — registered  all  promises  that  ought  to  be 
recommended  to  the  care  of  his  successor  in  office. 
The  wishes  of  many,  to  whom  he  had  forborne  to  give 
any  encouragement,  he  now  unexpectedly  fulfilled  and 
surpassed.  When  all  were  satisfied,  and  had  nothing 
more  to  ask  or  to  hope  from  him,  they  yet  delayed, 
and  parted  from  Lord  Oldborough  with  difficulty  and 
regret. 

A  proof  that  justice  commands  more  than  any  other 
quality  the  respect  and  gratitude  of  mankind.  Take 
time  and  numbers  into  the  calculation,  and  all  discover, 
in  their  turn,  the  advantage  of  this  virtue.  This  min- 
ister, a  few  regretted  instances  excepted,  had  shown  no 
favour,  but  strict  justice,  in  his  patronage. 

All  Lord  Oldborough's  requests  for  his  friends  were 
granted — all  his  recommendations  attended  to :  it  was 
grateful  to  him  to  feel  that  his  influence  lasted  after  his 
power  had  ceased.  Though  the  sun  had  apparently 
set,  its  parting  rays  continued  to  brighten  and  cheer  the 
prospect. 

Under  a  new  minister,  Mr.  Temple  declined  accepting 
of  the  embassy  which  had  been  offered  to  him.  Re- 
muneration suitable  to  his  services,  and  to  the  high  terms 
in  which  Lord  Oldborough  had  spoken  of  his  merit,  was 
pronsised  \_  and  without  waiting  fc>  see  in  what  foinx  or 


ATRONAOK^  57 

manner  this  promise  would  be  accomplished,  the  secre- 
tary asked  and  obtained  permission  to  accompany  his 
revered  master  to  his  retirement.  Alfred  Percy,  zealous 
and  ardent  in  Lord  Oldborough's  service,  the  more  this 
great  man's  character  had  risen  upon  his  admiration,  had 
already  hastened  to  the  country  to  prepare  every  thing 
at  Clermont-park  for  his  reception.  By  his  orders,  that 
establishment  had  been  retrenched ;  by  Alfred  Percy's 
activity  it  was  restored.  Services  which  the  richest 
noblemen  in  the  land  could  not  have  purchased,  or  the 
highest  have  commanded,  Alfred  was  proud  to  pay  as  a 
voluntary  tribute  to  a  noble  character. 

Lord  Oldborough  set  out  for  the  country  at  a  very  early 
hour  in  the  morning,  and  no  one  previously  knew  his 
intentions,  except  Mr.  Temple.  He  was  desirous  to 
avoid  what  it  had  been  whispered  was  the  design  of  the 
people,  to  attend  him  in  crowds  through  the  streets  of 
the  metropolis. 

As  they  drove  out  of  town  Lord  Oldborough  recol- 
lected that  in  some  account,  either  of  the  Duke  of  Mark 
borough,  or  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  leaving  London,  after 
his  dismission  from  court,  it  is  said,  that  of  all  those 
whom  the  duke  had  served,  all  those  who  had  courted 
and  flattered  him  in  the  time  of  his  prosperity  and  power, 
none  showed  any  gratitude  or  attachment,  excepting  one 
page,  who  appeared  at  the  coach-door  as  his  master  was 
departing,  and  gave  some  signs  of  genuine  sorrow  and 
respect. 

"  I  am  fortunate,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  "  in  having 
few  complaints  to  make  of  ingratitude.  I  make  none. 
The  few  I  might  make,"  continued  his  lordship,  who 
now  rewarded  Mr.  Temple's  approved  fidelity  by  speak- 
ing to  him  with  the  openness  and  confidence  of  friend- 
ship, "  the  few  I  might  make  have  been  chiefly  caused  by 
errors  of  my  own  in  the  choice  of  the  persons  I  have 
obliged.  I  thank  Heaven,  however,  that  upon  the  whote 
I  leave  public  life,  not  only  with  a  good  conscience,  but 
with  a  good  opinion  of  human  nature.  I  speak  not  of 
courtiers — there  is  nothing  of  nature  about  them — they 
are  what  circumstances  make  them.  Were  I  to  live  my 
life  over  again,  the  hours  spent  with  courtiers  are  those 
which  I  should  most  wish  to  be  spared ;  but  by  a  states- 
man, or  a  minister,  these  cannot  be  avoided.  For  my 
self,  in  resigning  my  ministerial  office,  I  might  say,  as 
Charles  the  Fifth,  when  he  abdicated,  said  to  his  suc- 
C3 


58  PATRONAGE. 

cessor,  '  I  leave  you  a  heavy  burthen ;  for  since  my 
shoulders  have  borne  it,  1  have  not  passed  one  day  ex- 
empt from  disquietude.' 

"  But  from  the  first  moment  I  started  in  the  course 
of  ambition,  I  was  aware  that  tranquillity  must  be  sacri- 
ficed ;  and  to  the  last  moment  I  abided  by  the  sacrifice. 
The  good  I  had  in  view  I  have  reached — the  prize  at 
which  I  aimed  I  have  won.  The  glory  of  England  was 
my  object — her  approbation  my  reward.  Generous 
people ! — If  ever  I  bore  toil  or  peril  in  your  cause,  I  am 
rewarded,  and  never  shall  you  hear  me  say  that  '  the 
unfruitful  glories  please  no  more.'  The  esteem  of  my 
sovereign ! — I  possess  it.  It  is  indefeasibly  mine.  His 
favour,  his  smiles,  are  his  to  give,  or  take  away.  Never 
shall  he  hear  from  me  the  waitings  of  disappointed  am- 
bition." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

CAROLINE  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  of  return- 
ing home  with  her  brother  Alfred,  when  he  went  to  the 
country  to  prepare  Clermont-park  for  the  reception  of 
Lord  Oldborough.  And  now  she  saw  her  home  again 
with  more  than  wonted  delight.  Every  thing  animate 
and  inanimate  seemed  to  smile  upon  her,  every  heart 
rejoiced  at  her  return ;  and  she  enjoyed  equally  the 
pleasure  of  loving  and  of  being  beloved  by  such  friends. 
She  had  been  amused  and  admired  during  her  residence 
in  London ;  but  a  life  of  dissipation  she  had  always 
thought,  and  now  she  was  convinced  from  experience, 
could  never  suit  her  taste  or  character.  She  would  im- 
mediately have  resumed  her  former  occupations,  if 
Rosamond  would  have  permitted ;  but  Rosamond  took 
entire  possession  of  her  at  every  moment  when  her 
father  or  mother  had  not  claimed  their  prior  right  to 
hear  and  to  be  heard. 

"Caroline,  my  dearr  don't  flatter  yourself  that  you 
shall  be  left  in  peace.  See ! — she  is  sitting  down  to 
write  a  letter,  as  if  she  had  not  been  away  from  us  these 
six  months — You  must  write  to  Lady  Jane  Granville ! — 
Wellrfinish  your  gratitude  quickly — and  no  more  writing, 


PATRONAGE.  59 

reading-,  or  drawing  this  day  ;  you  must  think  of  nothing 
but  talking  or  listening  to  me." 

Much  as  she  loved  talking  in  general,  Rosamond  now 
so  far  preferred  the  pleasure  of  hearing,  that,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  Caroline,  her  countenance  varying  with 
every  variety  of  Caroline's  expression,  she  sat  perfectly 
silent  all  the  time  her  sister  spoke.  And  scarcely  was 
her  voice  heard,  even  in  exclamation.  But,  during  the 
pauses  of  narrative,  when  the  pause  lasted  more  than  a 
minute,  she  would  say,  "  Go  on,  my  dear  Caroline,  go, 
on.  Tell  us  something  more." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  en- 
trance of  Mr.  Temple — and  Rosamond  did  not  imme- 
diately find  her  fluency  of  speech  increase.  Mr.  Temple 
had  seized  the  first  moment  that  duty  and  gratitude  to 
his  master  and  friend  permitted  to  hasten  to  the  Hills,, 
nor  had  Lord  Oldborough  been  unmindful  of  his  feelings. 
Little  as  his  lordship  was  disposed  to  think  of  love  af- 
fairs, it  seems  he  recollected  those  of  his  secretary  ;  for, 
the  morning  after  their  arrival  at  Clermont-park,  when 
he  proffered  his  services,  Lord  Oldborough  said,  that  he 
had  only  to  trouble  Mr.  Temple  to  pay  a  visit  for  him, 
if  it  would  not  be  disagreeable,  to  his  old  friend  Mr. 
Percy.  "  Tell  him  that  I  know  his  first  wish  will  be  to 
come  to  show  me  that  it  is  the  man,  not  the  minister,  for 
whom  he  had  a  regard :  tell  him  this  proof  of  his  esteem 
is  unnecessary.  He  will  wish  to  see  me  for  another 
reason :  he  is  aphilosopher — and  will  have  a  philosophical 
curiosity  to  discover  how  I  exist  without  ambition.  But 
of  that  he  cannot  yet  form  a  judgment — nor  can  I:  there- 
fore, if  he  pleases,  let  his  visit  be  delayed  till  next  week. 
I  have  some  papers  to  arrange,  which  I  should  wish  to 
show  him,  and  I  cannot  have  them  sooner  in  readiness. 
If  you,  Mr.  Temple,  can  contrive  to  pass  this  week  at 
Mr.  Percy's,  let  me  not  detain  you.  There  is  no  fear," 
added  he,  smiling,  "  that  in  solitude  I  should  be  troubled 
by  the  spectre  which  haunted  the  minister  in  Gil  Bias 
in  his  retirement." 

Never  was  man  happier  than  Mr.  Temple,  when  he 
found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  family  circle  at  the 
Hills,  and  seated  beside  Rosamond,  free  from  all  cares, 
all  business,  all  intrigues  of  courtiers,  and  restraints  of 
office ;  no  longer  in  the  horrors  of  attendance  and  de- 
pendence, but  with  the  promise  of  a  competent  provision 
for  life — with  the  consciousness  of  its  having  beea 


<JO  PATRONAGE. 

honourably  obtained ;  and,  to  brighten  all,  the  hope,  the 
delightful  hope  of  soon  prevailing  on  the  woman  he 
loved  to  become  his  for  ever. 

Alfred  Percy  had  been  obliged  to  return  directly  to 
London,  and  for  once  in  his  life  Mr.  Temple  profited  by 
the  absence  of  his  friend.  In  the  small  house  at  the 
Hills,  Alfred's  was  the  only  room  that  could  have  been 
spared  for  him ;  and  in  this  room,  scarcely  fourteen  feet 
square,  the  ex-secretary  found  himself  lodged  more 
entirely  to  his  satisfaction  than  he  had  ever  been  in  the 
sumptuous  apartments  of  the  great.  The  happy  are  not 
fastidious  as  to  their  accommodations ;  they  never  miss 
the  painted  ceiling,  or  the  long  arcade,  and  their  slum- 
bers require  no  bed  of  down.  The  lover's  only  fear 
was  that  this  happy  week  would  pass  too  swiftly ;  and, 
indeed,  time  flew  unperceived  by  him  and  by  Rosamond. 
One  fine  day,  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Percy  proposed,  that 
instead  of  sitting  longer  in  the  house,  they  should  have 
their  dessert  of  strawberries  in  some  pleasant  place  in 
the  lawn  or  wood.  Rosamond  eagerly  seconded  this 
proposal,  and  whispered,  "  Caroline's  bower." 

Thither  they  went.  This  bower  of  Caroline,  this 
favourite  spot,  Rosamond,  during  her  sister's  absence, 
had  taken  delight  in  ornamenting,  and  it  did  credit  as 
much  to  her  taste  as  to  her  kindness.  She  had  opened 
a  view  on  one  side  to  a  waterfall  among  the  rocks ;  on 
the  other,  to  a  winding  path  descending  through  the 
glen.  Honeysuckle,  rose,  and  eglantine,  near  the 
bower,  were  in  rich  and  wild  profusion ;  all  these,  the 
song  of  birds,  and  even  the  smell  of  the  new-mown 
grass,  seemed  peculiarly  delightful  to  Mr.  Temple.  Of 
late  years,  he  had  been  doomed  to  close  confinement  in 
a  capital  city ;  but  all  his  tastes  were  rural,  and,  as  he 
said,  he  feared  he  should  expose  himself  to  the  ridicule 
Dr.  Johnson  throws  on  those  "  who  talk  of  sheep  and 
goats,  and  who  babble  of  green  fields." 

Mr.  Percy  thought  Dr.  Johnson  was  rather  too  intol- 
erant of  rural  description,  and  of  the  praises  of  a  coun- 
try life ;  but  acknowledged  that  he  quite  agreed  with  him 
in  disliking  pastorals — excepting  always  that  beautiful 
drama,  "  The  Gentle  Shepherd."  Mr.  Percy  said,  that, 
in  his  opinion,  a  life  purely  pastoral  must,  if  it  could  be 
realized,  prove  as  insufferably  tiresome  in  reality  as  it 
usually  is  found  to  be  in  fiction.  He  hated  Delias  and 
shepherdesses,  and  declared  that  he  should  soon  grow 


PATRONAGE.  01 

tired  of  any  companion  with  whom  he  had  no  other 
occupation  in  common  but  "  tending  a  few  sheep." 
There  was  a  vast  difference,  he  thought,  between  pas- 
toral and  domestic  life.  His  idea  of  domestic  life  com- 
prised all  the  varieties  of  literature,  exercise,  and 
amusement  for  the  faculties,  with  the  delights  of  culti- 
vated society. 

The  conversation  turned  from  pastoral  life  and  pas- 
torals to  Scotch  and  English  ballads  and  songs.  Their 
various  merits  of  simplicity,  pathos,  or  elegance  were 
compared  and  discussed.  After  the  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry  had  been  sufficiently  admired,  Rosamond  and 
Caroline  mentioned  two  modern  compositions,  both  by 
the  same  author,  each  exquisite  in  its  different  style  of 
poetry — one  beautiful,  the  other  sublime.  Rosamond's 
favourite  was  the  Exile  of  Erin ;  Caroline's,  the  Mari- 
ners of  England.  To  justify  their  tastes,  they  repeated 
the  poems.  Caroline  fixed  the  attention  of  the  company 
on  the  flag,  which  has 

"  BraTed  a  thousand  years  the  battle  and  the  breeze," 

when  suddenly  her  own  attention  seemed  to  be  dis- 
tracted by  some  object  in  the  glen  below.  She  endea- 
voured to  go  on,  but  her  voice  faltered — her  colour 
changed.  Rosamond,  whose  quick  eye  followed  her 
sister's,  instantly  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gentleman  com- 
ing up  the  path  from  the  glen.  Rosamond  started  from 
her  seat,  and  clasping  her  hands,  exclaimed,  "  It  is !  It 
is  he ! — It  is  Count  Altenberg !" 

They  had  not  recovered  from  their  astonishment 
when  Count  Altenberg  stood  before  them.  To  Mr. 
Percy,  to  Mrs.  Percy,  to  Rosamond,  to  each  he 
spoke,  before  he  said  one  word  to  Caroline.  But  one 
look  had  said  all,  had  spoken,  and  had  been  under- 
stood. 

That  he  was  not  married  she  was  certain — for  that 
look  said  he  loved  her — and  her  confidence  in  his  honour 
was  secure.  Whatever  had  delayed  his  return,  or  had 
been  mysterious  in  his  conduct,  she  felt  convinced  that 
he  had  never  been  to  blame. 

And  on  his  part,  did  he  read  as  distinctly  the  truth  in 
her  countenance1? — Was  the  high  colour,  the  radiant 
pleasure  in  that  countenance  unmarked?  The  joy 
was  so  veiled  by  feminine  modesty,  that  he  doubted. 


62  PATRONAGE. 

trembled,  and  if  at  last  the  rapid  feelings  ended  in  hope> 
it  was  respectful  hope.  With  deference  the  most 
marked,  mingled  with  dignity,  tenderness,  and  passion, 
he  approached  Caroline.  He  was  too  delicate,  too 
well-bred,  to  distress  her  by  distinguishing  her  more 
particularly ;  but  as  he  took  the  seat  which  she  left  for 
him  beside  her  mother,  the  open  and  serene  expression 
of  her  eye,  with  the  soft  sound  of  her  voice,  in 
the  few  words  she  answered  to  what  he  said,  were 
enough  to  set  his  heart  at  ease.  The  sight  of  Mr. 
Temple  had  at  first  alarmed  the  count,  but  the  alarm 
was  only  momentary.  One  glance  at  Rosamond  re- 
assured him. 

Ideas,  which  it  requires  many  words  to  tell,  passed 
instantaneously  with  the  rapidity  of  light.  After  they 
were  seated,  some  minutes  were  spent  in  commonplace 
questions  and  answers,  such  as  those  which  Benjamin 
Franklin  would  wisely  put  all  together,  into  one  for- 
mula, to  satisfy  curiosity.  Count  Altenberg  landed  the 
preceding  day — had  not  stopped  to  see  any  one  in  Eng- 
land— had  not  even  heard  of  Lord  Oldborough's  resig- 
nation— had  proceeded  directly  to  the  Hills — had  left 
his  equipage  at  a  town  a  few  miles  distant — thought  he 
had  been  fully  master  of  the  well-known  road,  but  the 
approach  having  been  lately  changed,  he  had  missed  his 
way. 

This  settled,  to  make  room  for  a  more  interesting 
explanation,  Mr.  Temple  had  the  politeness  to  withdraw. 
Rosamond  had  the  humanity,  and  Caroline  the  discretion, 
to  accompany  him  in  his  walk. 

Count  Altenberg  then  said,  addressing  himself  to  Mr. 
Percy,  on  whose  regard  he  seemed  to  have  reliance, 
and  to  Mrs.  Percy,  whom  he  appeared  most  anxious  to 
interest  in  his  favour,  "  You  certainly,  sir,  as  a  man  of 
penetration,  and  a  father, — you,  madam,  as  a  mother, 
and  as  a  lady,  who  must  have  been  accustomed  to  the 
admiration  of  our  sex, — could  not  avoid  seeing,  when  I 
was  in  this  country  before,  that  I  felt  the  highest  admi- 
ration, that  I  had  formed  the  strongest  attachment  for 
your  daughter — Miss  Caroline  Percy." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  both  acknowledged  that  they 
thought  Count  Altenberg  had  shown  some  preference 
for  Caroline ;  but  as  he  had  never  declared  his  attach- 
ment, they  had  not  felt  themselves  justified  in  inferring 
more  from  his  attentions  than  his  general  good  opinion,. 


PATRONAGE.  03 

A  change  in  his  manner,  which  they  observed  shortly 
before  they  quitted  Hungerford  Castle,  had  impressed 
them  with  the  idea  that  he  had  no  such  views  as  they 
had  once  been  led  to  imagine,  and  their  never  having 
heard  any  thing  from  him  since  had  confirmed  them  in 
this  belief. 

"  Painful — exquisitely  painful  as  it  was  to  me,"  said 
Count  Altenberg,  "  I  felt  myself  bound  in  honour  to 
leave  you  in  that  error,  and  at  all  hazards  to  myself  to 
suffer  you  to  continue  under  that  persuasion,  as  I  was 
then,  and  have  been  till  within  these  few  days,  in  dread 
of  being  obliged  to  fulfil  an  engagement,  made  without 
my  concurrence  or  knowledge,  and  which  must  for  ever 
have  precluded  me  from  indulging  the  first  wish  of  my 
heart.  The  moment,  literally  the  moment  I  was  at 
liberty,  I  hastened  hither,  to  declare  my  real  senti- 
ments, and  to  solicit  your  permission  to  address  your 
daughter.  But  before  I  can  expect  that  permission, 
before  I  can  hope  for  your  approbation  of  my  suit — an 
approbation  which,  1  am  well  aware,  must  depend  en- 
tirely upon  your  opinion  of  my  character — I  must, 
to  explain  whatever  may  have  appeared  unintelligi- 
ble in  my  conduct,  be  permitted  to  make  you  fully 
acquainted  with  the  circumstances  in  which  I  have  been 
placed." 

Beginning  with  the  history  of  his  father's  letters  and 
his  own,  respecting  the  projected  marriage  with  the 
Countess  Christina,  he  related,  nearly  as  follows,  all 
that  passed,  after  his  having,  in  obedience  to  his  father's 
summons,  returned  home.  He  found  contracts  drawn 
up  and  ready  for  his  signature — the  friends  of  both  fami- 
lies apprized  of  the  proposed  alliance,  and  every  thing 
actually  prepared  for  his  marriage.  Remonstrances 
with  his  father  were  vain.  The  old  count  said  that  it 
was  impossible  to  break  off  the  match,  that  his  honour 
and  the  honour  of  his  house  were  pledged.  But  inde- 
pendently of  all  promises,  he  considered  the  accom- 
plishment of  this  marriage  as  most  desirable  and  advan- 
tageous :  with  all  the  vehemence  of  affection,  and  all 
the  force  of  parental  authority,  he  charged  his  son  to 
fulfil  his  engagements.  The  old  count  was  a  fond  but 
an  imperious  father ;  a  good  but  an  ambitious  man.  It 
was  his  belief  that  love  is  such  a  transient  passion,  that 
it  is  folly  to  sacrifice  to  its  indulgence  any  of  the  solid 
and  permanent  interests  of  life.  His  experience  ajt 


64  PATRONAGE. 

courts,  and  his  observation  on  the  gallantries  of  young 
princes  and  nobles,  had  taught  him  to  believe  that  love 
is  not  only  a  transient,  but  a  variable  and  capricious 
feeling,  easily  changing  its  object,  and  subsisting  only 
by  novelty.  All  that  his  son  said  of  his  attachment  to 
Caroline,  of  the  certainty  of  its  permanence,  and  of  its 
being  essential  to  the  happiness  of  his  life,  the  father 
heard  but  as  the  common  language  of  every  enamoured 
youth.  He  let  his  son  speak  without  interruption, 
but  smiled  incredulous,  and  listened  only  as  to  the 
voice  of  one  in  the  paroxysm  of  a  passion,  which, 
however  violent,  would  necessarily  subside.  Between 
the  fits,  he  endeavoured  to  control  the  fever  of  his 
mind,  and  as  a  spell  repeated  these  words :  "  Albert ! 
see  the  young  Countess  Christina — but  once — I  ask  no 
more." 

Albert,  with  the  respect  due  to  a  father,  but  with  the 
firmness  due  to  himself,  and  with  all  the  courage  which 
love  only  could  have  given  to  oppose  the  authority  and 
affection  of  a  parent,  refused  to  ratify  the  contract  that 
had  been  prepared,  and  declined  the  proposed  interview. 
He  doubted  not,  he  said,  that  the  lady  was  all  his  father 
described — beautiful,  amiable,  and  of  transcendent  tal- 
ents ;  he  doubted  not  her  power  to  win  any  but  a  heart 
already  won.  He  would  enter  into  no  invidious  com- 
parisons, nor  bid  defiance  to  her  charms — his  own  choice 
was  made,  he  was  sure  of  his  constancy,  and  he  thought 
it  not  only  the  most  honourable  course,  but  the  most 
respectful  to  the  Lady  Christina,  ingenuously  at  once, 
and  without  having  any  interview  with  her,  or  her 
friends,  to  state  the  truth — that  the  treaty  had  been 
commenced  by  his  father  without  his  knowledge,  and 
carried  on  under  total  ignorance  of  an  attachment  he 
had  formed  in  England.  The  father,  after  some  expres- 
sions of  anger  and  disappointment,  was  silent,  and  ap- 
peared to  acquiesce.  He  no  longer  openly  urged  the 
proposed  interview,  but  he  secretly  contrived  that  it 
should  take  place.  At  a  masked  ball  at  court,  Count 
Albert  entered  into  conversation  with  a  Minerva,  whose 
majestic  .air  and  figure  distinguished  her  above  her 
companions,  whose  language,  thoughts,  and  sentiments 
perfectly  sustained  the  character  which  she  assumed. 
He  was  struck  with  admiration  by  her  talents,  and  by  a 
certain  elevation  of  thought  and  sentiment,  which,  in 
all  she  said,  seemed  the  habitual  expression  of  a  real 


PATRONAGE.  65 

character,  not  the  strained  language  of  a  feigned  per- 
sonage. She  took  off  her  mask — he  was  dazzled  by  her 
beauty.  They  were  at  this  moment  surrounded  by 
numbers  of  her  friends  and  of  his,  who  were  watching 
the  effect  produced  by  this  interview.  His  father,  satis- 
fied by  the  admiration  he  sawiu  Count  Albert's  counte- 
nance, when  they  both  took  off  their  masks,  approached 
and  whispered,  "  The  Countess  Christina."  Count  Al- 
tenberg  grew  pale,  and  for  a  moment  stood  in  silent 
consternation.  The  lady  smiled  with  an  air  of  haughty 
superiority,  which  in  some  degree  relieved  him,  by 
calling  his  own  pride  to  his  aid,  and  by  convincing  him 
that  tenderness,  or  feminine  timidity,  which  he  would 
have  most  dreaded  to  wound,  were  not  the  characteris- 
tics of  her  mind.  He  instantly  asked  permission  to  pay 
his  respects  to  her  at  her  father's  palace  the  ensuing 
day.  She  changed  colour ;  darted  a  penetrating  glance 
at  the  count ;  and  after  an  incomprehensible  and  quick 
alternation  of  pleasure  and  pain  in  her  countenance,  she 
replied,  that  "  she  consented  to  grant  Count  Albert 
Altenberg  that  interview  which  he  and  their  mutual 
friends  desired."  She  then  retired  with  her  friends  from 
the  assembly. 

In  spite  of  the  haughtiness  of  her  demeanour,  it  had 
been  obvious  that  she  had  desired  to  make  an  impres- 
sion upon  Count  Albert ;  and  all  who  knew  her  agreed 
that  she  had  never  on  any  occasion  been  seen  to  exert 
herself  so  much  to  shine  and  please.  She  shone,  but 
had  not  pleased.  The  father,  however,  was  content; 
an  interview  was  promised — he  trusted  to  the  charms 
and  talents  of  the  countess — he  trusted  to  her  flattering 
desire  to  captivate,  and  with  impatience  and  confidence 
he  waited  for  the  event  of  the  succeeding  day.  Some 
intervening  hours,  a  night  of  feverish  and  agonizing 
suspense,  would  have  been  spared  to  Count  Albert,  had 
he  at  this  time  known  any  thing  of  an  intrigue — an 
intrigue  which  an  artful  enemy  had  been  carrying  on, 
with  design  to  mortify,  disgrace,  and  ruin  his  house. 
The  plan  was  worthy  of  him  by  whom  it  was  formed— - 
M.  de  Tourville — a  person  between  whom  and  Count 
Albert  there  seemed  an  incompatibility  of  character, 
and  even  of  manner ;  an  aversion  openly,  indiscreetly 
shown  by  the  count,  even  from  his  boyish  years,  but 
cautiously  concealed  on  the  part  of  M.  de  Tourville, 
masked  in  courtly  smiles  and  a  diplomatic  air  of  perfect 


66  PATRONAGE. 

consideration.  Fear  mixed  with  M.  de  Tourville's  dis- 
like. He  was  aware  that  if  Count  Albert  continued  in 
confidence  with  the  hereditary  prince,  he  would,  when 
the  prince  should  assume  the  reins  of  government,  be- 
come, in  all  probability,  his  prime  minister,  and  then 
adieu  to  all  M.  de  Tourville's  hopes  of  rising  to  favour 
and  fortune.  Fertile  in  the  resources  of  intrigue,  gal- 
lant and  political,  he  combined  them,  upon  this  occasion, 
with  exquisite  address.  When  the  Countess  Christina 
was  first  presented  at  court,  he  had  observed  that  the 
prince  was  struck  by  her  beauty.  M.  de  Tourville  took 
every  means  that  a  courtier  well  knows  how  to  employ, 
to  flatter  the  taste  by  which  he  hoped  to  profit.  In 
secret  he  insinuated  into  the  lady's  ear  that  she  was 
admired  by  the  prince.  M.  de  Tourville  knew  her  to 
be  of  an  aspiring  character,  and  rightly  judged  that  am- 
bition was  her  strongest  passion.  When  once  the  hope 
of  captivating  the  prince  had  been  suggested  to  her,  she 
began  to  disdain  the  proposed  alliance  with  the  house 
of  Altenberg ;  but  she  concealed  this  disdain,  till  she 
could  show  it  with  security :  she  played  her  part  with 
all  the  ability,  foresight,  and  consummate  prudence  of 
which  ambition,  undisturbed  by  love,  is  capable.  Many 
obstacles  opposed  her  views :  the  projected  marriage 
with  Count  Albert  Altenberg — the  certainty  that  the 
reigning  prince  would  never  consent  to  his  son's  forming 
an  alliance  with  the  daughter  of  a  subject.  But  the  old 
prince  was  dying,  and  the  Lady  Christina  calculated 
that  till  his  decease  she  could  protract  the  time  appointed 
for  her  marriage  with  Count  Albert.  The  young  prince 
might  then  break  off  the  projected  match,  prevail  upon 
the  emperor  to  create  her  a  princess  of  the  empire,  and 
then,  without  derogating  from  his  rank,  or  giving  offence 
to  German  ideas  of  propriety,  he  might  gratify  his  pas- 
sion, and  accomplish  the  fulness  of  her  ambition.  De- 
termined to  take  no  counsel  but  her  own,  she  never 
opened  her  scheme  to  any  of  her  friends,  but  pursued 
her  plan  secretly,  in  concert  with  M.  de  Tourville,  whom 
she  considered  but  as  an  humble  instrument  devoted  to 
her  service :  he  all  the  while  considering  her  merely 
as  a  puppet,  played  by  his  art,  to  secure  at  once  the 
purposes  of  his  interest  and  of  his  hatred.  He  thought 
he  foresaw  that  Count  Albert  would  never  yield  his 
intended  bride  peaceably  to  his  prince — he  knew  nothing 
of  the  count's  attachment  in  England — -the  Lady  Chris.- 


PATRONAGE.  67 

tina  was  charming — the  alliance  highly  advantageous 
to  the  house  of  Altenberg — the  breaking  off  such  a 
marriage,  and  the  disappointment  of  a  passion  which 
he  thought  the  young  countess  could  not  fail  to  inspire, 
would,  as  M.  de  Tourville  hoped,  produce  an  irreparable 
breach  between  the  prince  and  his  favourite.  On  Count 
Albert's  return  from  England,  symptoms  of  alarm  and 
jealousy  had  appeared  in  the  prince,  unmarked  by  all 
but  by  the  Countess  Christina,  and  by  the  confidant  who 
was  in  the  secret  of  his  passion. 

So  far  M.  de  Tourville's  scheme  had  prospered,  and, 
from  the  character  of  the  hereditary  prince,  it  was 
likely  to  succeed  in  its  ultimate  view.  He  was  a  prince 
of  good  dispositions,  but  wanting  in  resolution  and  civil 
courage :  capable  of  resisting  the  allurements  of  pleas- 
ure for  a  certain  time,  but  soon  weary  of  painful  en- 
durance in  any  cause  ;  with  a  taste  for  virtue,  but  des- 
titute of  that  power  to  bear  and  forbear  without  which 
there  is  no  virtue  :  a  hero  when  supported  by  a  stronger 
mind,  such  as  that  of  his  friend  Count  Albert :  but  relax- 
ing and  sinking  at  once,  when  exposed  to  the  influence 
of  a  flatterer,  such  as  M.  de  Tourville  :  subject  to  ex- 
quisite shame  and  self-reproach  when  he  had  acted  con- 
trary to  his  own  idea  of  right ;  yet  from  the  very  same 
weakness  that  made  him  err,  disposed  to  be  obstinate 
in  error.  M.  de  Tourville  argued  well,  from  his  know- 
ledge of  his  character,  that  the  prince,  enamoured  as  he 
was  of  the  charms  of  the  fair  Christina,  would  not  long 
be  able  to  resist  his  passion;  and  that  if  once  he  broke 
through  his  sense  of  honour,  and  declared  that  passion 
to  the  destined  bride  of  his  friend,  he  would  ever  after- 
ward shun  and  detest  the  man  whom  he  had  injured. 
All  this  M.  de  Tourville  had  admirably  well  combined  : 
no  man  understood  and  managed  better  the  weaknesses 
of  human  nature,  but  its  strength  he  could  not  so  well 
estimate  ;  and  as  for  generosity,  as  he  could  not  believe 
in  its  sincerity,  he  was  never  prepared  for  its  effects. 
The  struggles  which  the  prince  made  against  his  pas- 
sion were  greater  and  of  longer  duration  than  M.  de 
Tourville  had  expected.  If  Count  Albert  had  continued 
absent,  the  prince  might  have  been  brought  more  easily 
to  betray  him;  but  his  return  recalled,  in  the  midst  of 
love  and  jealousy,  the  sense  of  respect  he  had  for  the 
superior  character  of  this  friend  of  his  early  days :  he 
knew  the  value  of  a  friend— even  at  the  moment  ha 


68  PATRONAGE. 

yielded  his  faith  lo  a  flatterer.  He  could  not  at  once 
forfeit  the  esteem  of  the  being  who  esteemed  him  most 
— he  could  not  sacrifice  the  interest  and,  as  he  thought, 
the  happiness  of  the  man  who  loved  him  best.  The 
attachment  his  favourite  had  shown  him,  his  truth,  his 
confiding  openness  of  temper,  the  pleasure  in  his  coun- 
tenance when  he  saw  him  first  upon  his  return  from 
England — all  these  operated  on  the  heart  of  the  prince, 
and  no  declaration  of  his  passion  had  been  made  at  the 
time  when  the  appointed  interview  took  place  between 
Count  Albert  and  the  Countess  Christina  at  her  father's 
palace.  Her  friends,  not  doubting  that  her  marriage 
was  on  the  eve  of  its  accomplishment,  had  no  scruple, 
even  in  that  court  of  etiquette,  in  permitting  the  affi- 
anced lovers  to  have  as  private  a  conference  as  each 
seemed  to  desire.  The  lady's  manner  was  this  morn- 
ing most  alarmingly  gracious.  Count  Albert  was,  how- 
ever, struck  by  a  difference  in  her  air,  the  moment  she 
was  alone  with  him,  from  what  it  had  been  while  in  the 
presence  of  her  friends.  All  that  he  might  without 
vanity  have  interpreted  as  marking  a  desire  to  please, 
to  show  him  favour,  and  to  evince  her  approbation,  at 
least,  of  the  choice  her  friends  had  made  for  her,  van- 
ished the  moment  they  withdrew.  What  her  motives 
might  be  Count  Altenberg  could  not  guess  ;  but  the 
hope  he  now  felt  that  she  was  not  really  inclined  to 
consider  him  with  partiality,  rendered  it  more  easy  to 
enter  into  that  explanation  upon  which  he  was,  at  all 
events,  resolved.  With  all  the  delicacy  due  to  her  sex, 
with  all  the  deference  due  to  her  character,  and  all  the 
softenings  by  which  politeness  can  sooth  and  concili- 
ate pride,  he  revealed  to  the  Countess  Christina  the  real 
state  of  his  affections :  he  told  her  the  whole  truth,  con- 
cluding by  repeating  the  assurance  of  his  belief  that  her 
charms  and  merit  would  be  irresistible  to  any  heart  that 
was  disengaged. 

The  lady  heard  him  in  astonishment :  for  this  turn 
of  fate  she  had  been  wholly  unprepared — the  idea  of  his 
being  attached  to  another  had  never  once  presented 
itself  to  her  imagination ;  she  had  never  calculated  on 
the  possibility  that  her  alliance  should  be  declined  by 
any  individual  of  a  family  less  than  sovereign.  She 
possessed,  however,  pride  of  character  superior  to  her 
pride  of  rank,  and  strength  of  mind  suited  to  the  lofti- 
ness of  her  ambition.  With  dignity  in  her  air  and 


PATRONAGE.  69 

countenance,  after  a  pause  of  reflection,  she  replied, 
"  Count  Albert  Altenberg  is,  I  find,  equal  to  the  high 
character  I  have  heard  of  him  ;  deserving  of  my  esteem 
and  confidence,  by  that  which  can  alone  command  es- 
teem and  merit  confidence — sincerity.  His  example 
has  recalled  me  to  my  nobler  self,  and  he  has  in  this 
moment  rescued  me  from  the  labyrinth  of  a  diplomatist. 
Count  Albert's  sincerity  I — little  accustomed  to  imita- 
tion, but  proud  to  follow  in  what  is  good  and  great — 
shall  imitate.  Know  then,  sir,  that  my  heart,  like  your 
own,  is  engaged :  and  that  you  may  be  convinced  I  do 
not  mock  your  ear  with  the  semblance  of  confidence,  I 
shall,  at  whatever  hazard  to  myself,  trust  to  you  my 
secret.  My  affections  have  a  high  object — are  fixed 
upon  him  whose  friend  and  favourite  Count  Albert 
Altenberg  deservedly  is.  I  should  scorn  myself — no 
throne  upon  earth  could  raise  me  in  my  own  opinion, 
if  I  could  deceive  or  betray  the  man  who  has  treated 
me  with  such  sincerity." 

Relieved  at  once  by  this  explanation,  and  admiring 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  made,  mingled  joy  and  ad- 
miration were  manifest  in  his  countenance  ;  and  the 
lady  forgave  him  the  joy,  in  consideration  of  the  tribute 
he  paid  to  her  superiority.  Admiration  was  a  tribute 
he  was  most  willing  to  yield  at  this  moment,  when  re- 
leased from  that  engagement  to  love  which  it  had  been 
impossible  for  him  to  fulfil. 

The  countess  recalled  his  attention  to  her  affairs  and 
to  his  own.  Without  his  making  any  inquiry,  she  told 
him  all  that  had  been  done,  and  all  that  yet  remained  to 
be  done,  for  the  accomplishment  of  her  hopes  :  she  had 
been  assured,  she  said,  by  one  now  in  the  favour  and 
private  confidence  of  the  hereditary  prince,  that  his 
inclination  for  her  was — painfully  and  with  struggles,, 
which,  in  her  eyes,  made  his  royal  heart  worthy  her 
conquest — suppressed  by  a  sense  of  honour  to  his 
friend. 

"  This  conflict  would  now  cease,"  Count  Albert  said. 
"  It  should  be  his  immediate  care  to  relieve  his  prince 
from  all  difficulty  on  his  account." 

"  By  what  means  V  the  countess  asked. 

"  Simply  by  informing  him  of  the  truth,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  Your  secret,  madam,  is  safe — your  con- 
fidence sacred.  Of  all  that  concerns  myself,  my  own 
attachment,  and  the  resignation  of  any  pretensions  that 


70  PATRONAGE. 

might  interfere  with  his,  he  shall  immediately  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  truth." 

The  countess  coloured,  and  repeating  the  words  "  the 
whole  truth"  looked  disconcerted,  and  in  great  perplex- 
ity replied,  that  Count  Albert's  speaking  to  the  prince 
directly — his  immediate  resignation  of  his  pretensions — 
would  perhaps  defeat  her  plans.  This  was  not  the 
course  she  had  intended  to  pursue  ;  far  from  that  which 
M.  de  Tourville  had  pointed  out.  After  some  moments' 
reflection,  she  said,  "  I  abide  by  the  truth  ;  speak  to  the 
prince — be  it  so.  I  trust  to  your  honour  and  discretion 
to  speak  to  him  in  such  terms  as  not  to  implicate  me, 
to  commit  my  delicacy,  or  to  derogate  from  my  dignity. 
We  shall  see  then  whether  he  loves  me  as  I  desire  to 
be  loved.  If  he  does,  he  will  free  me  at  once  from  all 
difficulty  with  my  friends,  for  he  will  speak  en  prince, 
and  not  speak  in  vain ;  if  he  loves  me  not,  I  need  not 
tell  you,  sir,  that  you  are  equally  free.  My  friends  shall 
be  convinced  that  I  will  never  be  the  bride  of  any  other 
man." 

'  After  the  explanation  with  the  Lady  Christina,  Count 
Albert  lost  no  time ;  he  went  instantly  to  the  palace. 
In  his  way  thither,  he  was  met  by  one  of  the  pages,  who 
told  him  the  prince  desired  to  see  him  immediately. 
He  found  the  prince  alone.  Advancing  to  meet  him, 
with  great  effort  in  his  manner  to  command  his  emo- 
tion, the  prince  said,  "I  have  sent  for  you,  Count  Al- 
bert, to  give  you  a  proof  that  the  friendship  of  princes 
is  not,  in  every  instance,  so  vain  a  thing  as  it  is  com- 
monly believed  to  be.  Mine  for  you  has  withstood 
strong  temptation  :  you  come  from  the  Countess  Chris- 
tina, 1  believe,  and  can  measure  better  than  any  one  the 
force  of  that  temptation.  Know  that,  in  your  absence,  it 
has  been  my  misfortune  to  become  passionately  enam- 
oured of  your  destined  bride  ;  but  I  have  never,  either  by 
word  or  look,  directly  or  indirectly  infringed  on  what  I 
felt  to  be  due  to  your  friendship  and  to  my  own  honour. 
Never  did  1  give  her  the  slightest  intimation  of  my  pas- 
sion— never  attempted  to  lake  any  of  the  advantages 
which  my  situation  might  be  supposed  to  give." 

Count  Albert  had  just  received  the  most  convincing 
testimony  corroborating  these  assertions ;  he  was  going 
to  express  his  sense  of  the  conduct  of  his  prince,  and 
to  explain  his  own  situation,  but  the  prince  went  on 
speaking  with  the  eagerness  of  one  who  fears  his  own 


PATRONAGE.  71 

resolution — who  has  to  say  something  which  he  dreads 
that  he  should  not  be  able  to  resume  or  finish,  if  his 
feelings  should  meet  with  any  interruption. 

"  And  now  let  me,  as  your  friend  and  prince,  con- 
gratulate you,  Count  Albert,  on  your  happiness ;  and 
with  the  same  sincerity  I  request  that  your  marriage 
may  not  be  delayed,  and  that  you  will  take  your  bride 
immediately  away  from  my  father's  court.  Time  will, 
I  hope,  render  her  presence  less  dangerous ;  time  will, 
I  hope,  enable  me  to  enjoy  your  society  in  safety  ;  and 
when  it  shall  become  my  duty  to  govern  this  state,  I 
shall  hope  for  the  assistance  of  your  talents  and  integ- 
rity, and  shall  have  deserved,  in  some  degree,  your 
attachment." 

The  count  in  the  strongest  manner  expressed  his 
gratitude  to  his  prince  for  these  proofs  of  his  regard, 
given  under  circumstances  the  most  trying  to  the  human 
heart.  He  felt  at  this  instant  exquisite  pleasure  in  re- 
vealing to  his  highness  the  truth,  in  showing  him  that 
the  sacrifice  he  had  so  honourably,  so  generously  de- 
termined to  make,  was  not  requisite — that  their  affec- 
tions were  fixed  on  different  objects — that  before  Count 
Albert  had  any  idea  of  the  prince's  attachment  to  the 
Lady  Christina,  it  had  been  his  ardent  wish,  his  deter- 
mination, at  all  hazards,  to  break  off  engagements  which 
he  could  not  fulfil. 

The  prince  was  in  rapturous  joy;  all  his  ease  of 
manner  towards  his  friend  returned  instantly,  his  affec- 
tion and  confidence  flowed  in  full  tide.  Proud  of  him- 
self, and  happy  in  the  sense  of  the  imminent  danger 
from  which  he  had  escaped,  he  now  described  the  late 
conflicts  his  heart  had  endured  with  the  eloquence  of 
self-complacency,  and  with  that  sense  of  relief  which  is 
felt  in  speaking  on  the  most  interesting  of  all  subjects 
to  a  faithful  friend  from  whom  a  secret  has  been  pain- 
fully concealed.  The  prince  now  threw  open  every 
thought,  every  feeling  of  his  mind.  Count  Altenberg 
rose  higher  than  ever  in  his  favour :  not  the  temporary 
favourite  of  the  moment — the  companion  of  pleasures — 
the  flatterer  of  present  passion  or  caprice,  but  the  friend 
in  whom  there  is  certainty  of  sympathy,  and  security 
of  counsel.  The  prince,  confiding  in  Count  Albert's 
zeal  and  superior  powers,  now  took  advice  from  him, 
and  made  a  confidant  no  longer  of  M.  de  Tourville.  The 
very  means  which  that  intriguing  courtier  had  taken  to 


72  PATRONAGE. 

undermine  the  count  thus  eventually  proved  the  cause 
of  establishing  more  firmly  his  credit.  The  plain  sin- 
cerity of  the  count,  and  the  generous  magnanimity  of 
the  lady,  at  once  disconcerted  and  destroyed  the 
artful  plan  of  the  diplomatist.  M.  de  Tourville's  dis- 
appointment when  he  heard  from  the  Countess  Chris- 
tina the  result  of  her  interview  with  Count  Albert,  and 
the  reproaches  which  in  that  moment  of  vexation  he 
could  not  refrain  from  uttering  against  the  lady  for  hav- 
ing departed  from  their  plan,  and  having  trusted  to  the 
count,  unveiled  to  her  the  meanness  of  his  character 
and  the  baseness  of  his  designs.  She  plainly  saw  that 
his  object  had  been,  not  to  assist  her  love,  but  to  gratify 
his  own  hate ;  not  merely  to  advance  his  own  fortune 
— that,  she  knew,  must  be  the  first  object  of  every  cour- 
tier— but  "  to  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  another's  fame  ;" 
and  this,  she  determined,  should  never  be  accomplished 
by  her  assistance,  or  with  her  connivance.  She  put 
Count  Albert  on  his  guard  against  this  insidious  enemy. 
The  count,  grateful  to  the  lady,  yet  biased  neither 
by  hope  of  her  future  favour  nor  by  present  desire  to 
please,  firm  in  honour  and  loyalty  to  the  prince  who 
asked  his  counsel,  carefully  studied  the  character  of 
the  Countess  Christina,  to  determine  whether  she  pos- 
sessed the  qualities  fit  for  the  high  station  to  which  love 
was  impatient  that  she  should  be  elevated.  When  he 
was  convinced  that  her  character  was  such  as  was 
requisite  to  ensure  the  private  happiness  of  the  prince, 
to  excite  him  to  the  attainment  of  true  glory — then, 
and  not  till  then,  he  decidedly  advised  the  marriage, 
and  zealously  offered  any  assistance  in  his  power  to 
promote  the  union.  The  hereditary  prince  about  this 
time  became,  by  the  death  of  his  father,  sole  master  of 
his  actions  ;  but  it  was  not  prudent  to  begin  his  govern- 
ment with  an  act  in  open  defiance  of  the  prejudices  or 
customs  of  his  country.  By  these  customs,  he  could 
not  marry  any  woman  under  the  rank  of  a  princess ; 
and  the  emperor  had  been  known  to  refuse  conferring 
this  rank,  even  on  favourites  of  powerful  potentates,  by 
whom  he  had  been  in  the  most  urgent  manner  solicited. 
Count  Albert  Altenberg  stood  high  in  the  esteem  of  the 
emperor,  at  whose  court  he  had  spent  some  time ;  and 
his  prince  now  commissioned  him  to  go  to  Vienna,  and 
endeavour  to  move  the  emperor  to  concede  this  point 
in  his  favour.  This  embassy  was  a  new  and  terrible 


PATRONAGE.  73 

delay  to  the  count's  anxious  desire  of  returning  to 
England.  But  he  had  offered  his  services,  and  he  gave 
them  generously.  He  repaired  to  Vienna,  and  perse- 
vering through  many  difficulties,  at  length  succeeded  in 
obtaining  for  the  countess  the  rank  of  princess.  The 
attachment  of  the  prince  was  then  publicly  declared — 
the  marriage  was  solemnized — all  approved  of  the 
prince's  choice — all — except  the  envious,  who  never 
approve  of  the  happy.  Count  Albert  received,  both 
from  the  prince  and  princess,  the  highest  marks  of 
esteem  and  favour.  M .  de  Tourville,  detected  and  de- 
spised, retired  from  court  in  disgrace  and  in  despair. 

Immediately  after  his  marriage,  the  prince  declared 
his  intention  of  appointing  Count  Albert  Altenberg  his 
prime  minister ;  but  before  he  entered  on  the  duties  of 
his  office,  and  the  very  moment  that  he  could  be  spared 
by  his  prince,  he  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  return 
to  England,  to  the  lady  on  whom  his  affections  were 
fixed.  The  old  count,  his  father,  satisfied  with  the  turn 
which  affairs  had  taken,  and  gratified  in  his  utmost  am- 
bition by  seeing  his  son  minister  of  state,  now  willingly 
permitted  him  to  follow  his  own  inclination  in  the 
choice  of  a  wife.  "And,"  concluded  Count  Albert, 
"  my  father  rejoices  that  my  heart  is  devoted  to  an 
Englishwoman :  having  himself  married  an  English 
lady,  he  knows,  from  experience,  how  to  appreciate  the 
domestic  merits  of  the  ladies  of  England ;  he  is  pre- 
possessed in  their  favour.  He  agrees,  indeed,  with 
foreigners  of  every  nation,  who  have  had  opportunities 
of  judging,  and  who  all  allow  that — next  to  their  own 
countrywomen — the  English  are  the  most  charming  and 
the  most  amiable  women  in  the  world." 

When  the  count  had  finished,  and  had  pronounced 
this  panegyric  of  a  nation,  while  he  thought  only  of 
an  individual,  he  paused,  anxious  to  know  what  effect 
his  narrative  had  produced  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy. 

He  was  gratified  both  by  their  words  and  looks, 
which  gave  him  full  assurance  of  their  entire  satis- 
faction. 

"  And  since  he  had  done  them  the  honour  of  appeal- 
ing to  their  opinion,  they  might  be  permitted  to  add 
their  complete  approbation  of  every  part  of  his  conduct, 
in  the  difficult  circumstances  in  which  he  had  been 
placed.  They  were  fully  sensible  of  the  high  honour 
that  such  a  man  as  Count  Altenberg  conferred  on  their 

VOL.  XVI.— D 


74  PATRONAGE. 

daughter  by  his  preference.  As  to  the  rest,  they  must 
refer  him  to  Caroline  herself."  Mr.  Percy  said  with  a 
grave  voice,  but  with  a  smile  from  which  the  count 
augured  well,  "that  even  for  the  most  advantageous 
and,  in  his  opinion,  desirable  connexion,  he  would  not 
influence  his  daughter's  inclination. — Caroline  must 
decide." 

The  count,  with  all  the  persuasive  tenderness  and 
energy  of  truth  and  love,  pleaded  his  own  cause,  and 
was  heard  by  Caroline  with  a  modest,  dignified,  ingen- 
uous sensibility,  which  increased  his  passion.  Her 
partiality  was  now  heightened  by  her  conviction  of  the 
strength  and  steadiness  of  his  attachment ;  but  while 
she  acknowledged  how  high  he  stood  in  her  esteem, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  impression  he  had 
made  on  her  heart,  yet  he  saw  that  she  dreaded  to  yield 
to  the  passion  which  must  at  last  require  from  her  the 
sacrifice  of  her  home,  country,  friends,  and  parents. 
As  long  as  the  idea  of  being  united  to  him  was  faint 
and  distant,  so  was  the  fear  of  the  sacrifices  that  union 
might  demand ;  but  now,  the  hope,  the  fear,  the  cer^ 
tainty,  at  once  pressed  on  her  heart  with  the  most  agi- 
tating urgency.  The  count,  as  far  as  possible,  relieved 
her  mind  by  the  assurance  that  though  his  duty  to  his 
prince  and  his  father,  that  though  all  his  private  and 
public  connexions  and  interests  obliged  him  to  reside 
some  time  in  Germany,  yet  that  he  could  occasionally 
visit  England,  that  he  should  seize  every  opportunity  of 
visiting  a  country  he  preferred  to  all  others ;  and,  for 
his  own  sake,  he  should  cultivate  the  friendship  of  her 
family,  as  each  individual  was  in  different  ways  suited 
to  his  taste  and  stood  high  in  his  esteem. 

Caroline  listened  with  fond  anxiety  to  these  hopes  : 
she  was  willing  to  believe  in  promises  which  she  was 
convinced  were  made  with  entire  sincerity ;  and  when 
her  affections  had  been  wrought  to  this  point,  when  her 
resolution  was  once  determined,  she  never  afterward 
tormented  the  man  to  whom  she  was  attached  with 
wavering  doubts  and  scruples. 

Count  Altenberg's  promise  to  his  prince  obliged  him 
to  return  at  an  appointed  time.  Caroline  wished  that 
time  had  been  more  distant ;  she  would  have  delighted 
in  spending  the  spring-time  of  love  in  the  midst  of  those 
who  had  formed  till  now  all  the  happiness  of  her  life — 
with  her  parents,  to  whom  she  owed  every  thing,  to 


PATRONAGE.  76 

whom  her  gratitude  was  as  warm,  as  strong,  as  her 
affection — with  her  beloved  sister,  who  had  sympathized 
so  tenderly  in  all  her  sorrow,  and  who  ardently  wished 
to  have  some  time  allowed  to  enjoy  her  happiness. 
Caroline  felt  all  this,  but  she  felt  too  deeply  to  display 
feeling  :  sensible  of  what  the  duty  and  honour  of  Count 
Altenberg  demanded,  she  asked  for  no  delay. 

The  first  letters  that  were  written  to  announce  her 
intended  marriage  were  to  Mrs.  Hungerford  and  to 
Lady  Jane  Granville.  And  it  may  be  recorded  as  a  fact 
rather  unusual,  that  Caroline  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
satisfy  all  her  friends :  not  to  offend  one  of  her  rela- 
tions, by  telling  any  too  soon,  or  too  late,  of  her  inten- 
tions. In  fact,  she  made  no  secret,  no  mystery,  where 
none  was  required  by  good  sense  or  propriety.  Nor 
did  she  communicate  it  under  a  strict  injunction  of 
secrecy  to  twenty  friends,  who  were  afterward  each 
to  be  angry  with  the  other  for  having,  or  not  having, 
told  that  of  which  they  were  forbidden  to  speak.  The 
order  of  precedency  in  Caroline's  confidential  com- 
munications was  approved  even  by  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned. 

Mrs.  Hungerford  was  at  Pembroke  with  her  nieces 
when  she  received  Caroline's  letter:  her  answer  was 
as  follows. 

"  MY  DEAR  CHILD, 

"  I  am  ten  years  younger  since  I  read  your  letter, 
therefore  do  not  be  surprised  at  the  quickness  of  my 
motions — I  shall  be  with  you  at  the  Hills,  in  town,  or 
whereVer  you  are,  as  soon  as  it  is  possible,  after  you 
let  me  know  when  and  where  I  can  embrace  you  and 
our  dear  count.  At  the  marriage  of  my  niece,  Lady 
Mary  Barclay,  your  mother  will  remember  that  I  prayed 
to  heaven  I  might  live  to  see  my  beloved  Caroline 
united  to  the  man  of  her  choice — I  am  grateful  that 
this  blessing,  this  completion  of  all  my  earthly  hopes 
and  happiness,  has  been  granted  to  me. 

"  M.  ELIZABETH  HUNGERFORD." 

The  answer  of  Lady  Jane  Granville  came  next. 
"  Confidential. 

"  This  is  the  last  confidential  letter  I  shall  ever  be  able 
to  write  to  you — for  a  married  woman's  letters,  you; 
D2 


76  PATRONAGE. 

know,  or  you  will  soon  know,  become,  like  all  the  rest 
of  her  property,  subject  to  her  husband — excepting 
always  the  secrets  of  which  she  was  possessed  before 
marriage,  which  do  not  go  into  the  common  stock,  if 
she  be  a  woman  of  honour — so  I  am  safe  with  you, 
Caroline ;  and  any  erroneous  opinion  I  might  have 
formed,  or  any  hasty  expressions  I  may  have  let  drop, 
about  a  certain  count,  you  will  bury  in  oblivion,  and 
never  let  me  see  you  look  even  as  if  you  recollected 
to  have  heard  them. 

"  You  were  right,  my  dear,  in  that  whole  business — 
I  was  wrong ;  and  all  I  can  say  for  myself  is,  that  I 
was  wrong  with  the  best  possible  intentions.  I  now 
congratulate  you  with  as  sincere  joy  as  if  this  charming 
match  had  been  made  by  my  advice,  under  my  cJiaperon- 
agCj  and  by  favour  of  that  patronage  of  fashion,  of  which 
I  know  your  father  thinks  that  both  my  head  and  heart 
are  full;  there  he  is  only  half-right,  after  all:  so  do 
no't  let  him  be  too  proud.  I  will  not  allow  that  my 
heart  is  ever  wrong,  certainly  not  where  you  are  con- 
cerned. 

"  I  am  impatient,  my  dear  Caroline,  to  see  your  Count 
Altenberg.  I  heard  him  most  highly  spoken  of  yester- 
day by  a  Polish  nobleman,  whom  I  met  at  dinner  at  the 
Duke  of  Greenwich's.  Is  it  true  that  the  count  is  to  be 
prime  minister  of  the  Prince  of  ***  ?  The  Duke  of 
Greenwich  asked  me  this  question,  and  I  promised  I 
would  let  his  grace  know  from  the  best  possible  authority 
— but  I  did  not  commit  you. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,  for  my  own  interest.  If  you 
have  really  and  cordially  forgiven  me  for  having  so 
rashly  said,  upon  a  late  occasion,  that  I  would  never 
forgive  you,  prove  to  me  your  placability  and  your  sin- 
cerity— use  your  all-powerful  influence  to  obtain  for  me 
a  favour  on  which  I  have  set  my  heart.  Will  you  pre- 
vail on  all  your  house  to  come  up  to  town  directly  and 
take  possession  of  mine  ? — Count  Altenberg,  you  say, 
has  business  to  transact  with  ministers ;  while  this  is 
going  on,  and  while  the  lawyers  are  settling  prelimina- 
ries, where  can  you  all  be  better  than  with  me  ?  I  hope 
I  shall  be  able  to  make  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  feel  as  much 
at  home,  in  one  hour's  time,  as.I  found  myself  the  first 
evening  after  my  arrival  at  the  Hills  some  years  ago. 

"  I  know  the  Hnngerfords  will  press  you  to  go  to 
them,  and  Alfred  and  Mrs.  A.  Percy  will  plead  nearest 


PATRONAGE.  77 

of  kin;  I  can  only  throw  myself  upon  your  generosity. 
The  more  inducements  you  have  to  go  to  other  friends, 
the  more  I  shall  feel  gratified  and  obliged,  if  you  favour 
me  with  this  proof  of  your  preference  and  affection. 
Indulge  me,  my  dear  Caroline,  perhaps  for  the  last  time, 
with  your  company ;  of  which,  believe  me,  I  have, 
though  a  woman  of  the  world,  sense  and  feeling  suffi- 
cient fully  to  appreciate  the  value.  Yours  (at  all  events), 
ever  and  affectionately, 

"J.  GRANVILLE. 

"  Spring-Gardens,  Tuesday. 

"P.S. — I  hope  your  father  is  of  my  opinion,  that 
weddings,  especially  among  persons  of  a  certain  rank 
of  life,  ought  always  to  be  public — attended  by  the  friends 
and  connexions  of  the  families,  and  conducted  with 
something  of  the  good  old  aristocratic  formality,  pomp, 
and  state  of  former  times." 

Lady  Jane  Granville's  polite  and  urgent  request  was 
granted.  Caroline  and  all  her  family  had  pleasure  in 
showing  Lady  Jane  that  they  fett  grateful  for  her  kind- 
ness. 

Mr.  Temple  obtained  permission  from  Lord  Old- 
borough  to  accompany  the  Percys  to  town  ;  and  it  was 
settled  that  Rosamond  and  Caroline  should  be  married 
on  the  same  day. 

But  the  morning  after  their  arrival  in  London,  Mr. 
Temple  appeared  with  a  countenance  very  unlike  that 
which  had  been  seen  the  night  before.  Hope  and  joy 
had  fled ! — All  pale  and  in  consternation  !  Rosamond 
was  ready  to  die  with  terror.  She  was  relieved  when 
he  declared  that  the  evil  related  only  to  his  fortune. 
The  place  that  had  been  promised  to  him  was  given, 
indeed — the  word  of  promise  was  kept  to  the  ear — but 
by  some  management,  either  of  Lord  Skreene's  or  Lord 
Skrimpshire's,  the  place  had  been  saddled  with  a  pen- 
sion to  the  widow  of  the  gentleman  by  whom  it  had 
been  previously  held,  and  the  amount  of  this  pension 
was  such  as  to  reduce  the  profits  of  the  place  to  an 
annual  income  by  no  means  sufficient  to  secure  in- 
dependence, or  even  competence,  to  a  married  man. 
Mr.  Temple  knew  that  when  the  facts  were  stated  to 
Lord  Oldborough,  his  lordship  would,  by  his  representa- 
tions to  the  highest  authority,  obtain  redress ;  but  the 
secretary  was  unwilling  to  implicate  him  in  this  dis- 


78  PATRONAGE. 

agreeable  affair — unwilling  to  trouble  his  tranquillity 
again  with  court-intrigues,  especially,  as  Mr..  Temple 
said,  where  his  own  personal  interest  alone  was  con- 
cerned ;  at  any  rate,  this  business  must  delay  his  mar- 
riage. Count  Altenberg  could  not  possibly  defer  the 
day  named  for  his  wedding ;  despatches  from  the  Con- 
tinent pressed  the  absolute  necessity  of  his  return. 
Revolutionary  symptoms  had  again  appeared  in  the  city 
— his  prince  could  not  dispense  with  his  services.  His 
honour  was  at  stake. 

Mr.  Temple  did  not  attempt  or  pretend  to  bear  his 
disappointment  like  a  philosopher :  he  bore  it  like  a 
lover,  that  is  to  say,  very  ill.  Rosamond,  poor  Rosa- 
*pond,  rallied  him  with  as  much  gayety  as  she  could 
command  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

After  a  little  time  for  reflection,  her  good  sense, 
which,  when  called  upon  to  act,  never  failed  to  guide 
her  conduct,  induced  her  to  exert  decisive  influence  to 
prevent  Mr.  Temple  from  breaking  out  into  violent  com- 
plaints against  those  in  power,  by  whom  he  had  been 
ill  treated. 

The  idea  of  being  married  on  the  same  day  with  her 
sister,  she  said,  after  all,  was  a  mere  childish  fancy,  for 
•which  no  solid  advantage  should  be  hazarded ;  there- 
fore she  conjured  her  lover  not  in  heat  of  passion  to 
precipitate  things,  but  patiently  to  wait — to  return  and 
apply  to  Lord  Oldborough,  if  he  should  find  that  the 
representations  he  had  already  made  to  Lord  Skrimp- 
shire  failed  of  effect.  With  much  reluctance  Mr.  Tem- 
ple submitted  to  postpone  the  day  promised  for  his 
marriage;  but  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  so  strongly 
supported  Rosamond's  arguments,  that  he  was  com- 
pelled to  be  prudent.  Rosamond  now  thought  only  of 
her  sister's  approaching  nuptials.  Mrs.  Hungerford  and 
Mrs.  Mortimer  arrived  in  town,  and  all  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Percy's  troops  of  friends  gathered  round  them  for  this 
joyful  occasion. 

Lady  Jane  Granville  was  peculiarly  happy  in  finding 
that  Mr.  Percy  agreed  with  her  in  opinion  that  mar- 
riages ought  to  be  publicly  solemnized;  and  rejoiced 
that  when  Caroline  should  be  led  to  the  altar  by  the 
man  of  her  choice,  she  would  feel  that  choice  sanc- 
tioned by  the  approbation  of  her  assembled  family  and 
friends.  Lady  Jane  justly  observed,  that  it  was  advan- 
tageous to  mark  as  strongly  as  possible  the  difference 


PATRONAGE.  79 

between  marriages  with  consent  of  friends  and  clan- 
destine unions,  which,  from  their  very  nature,  must 
always  be  as  private  as  possible. 

If  some  little  love  of  show,  and  some  aristocratic 
pride  of  family,  mixed  with  Lady  Jane's  good  sense 
upon  this  as  upon  most  other  occasions,  the  truly  philo- 
sophic will  be  inclined  to  pardon  her ;  for  they  best  know 
how  much  of  all  the  principles  which  form  the  strength 
and  happiness  of  society  depends  upon  mixed  motives. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy,  grateful  to  Lady  Jane,  and  willing 
to  indulge  her  affection  in  its  own  way,  gratified  her 
•with  permission  to  arrange  the  whole  ceremonial  of  the 
wedding. 

Now  that  Rosamond's  marriage  was  postponed,  she 
claimed  first  right  to  be  her  sister's  bridemaid ;  Lady 
Florence  Pembroke,  Mrs.  Hungerford's  niece,  had  made 
her  request,  and  obtained  Caroline's  promise,  to  be  the 
second ;  and  these  were  all  that  Caroline  desired  to 
have  :  but  Lady  Jane  Granville  evidently  wished  for  the 
honour  and  glory  of  Lady  Frances  Arlington  for  a  third, 
because  she  was  niece  to  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  ;  and 
besides,  as  Lady  Jane  pleaded,  "  though  a  little  selfish, 
she  really  would  have  been  generous,  if  she  had  not 
been  spoiled :  to  be  sure,  she  cared  in  general  for  no 
one  but  herself;  yet  she  absolutely  showed  particular 
interest  about  Caroline.  Besides,  her  ladyship  had  set 
her  heart  upon  the  matter,  and  never  would  forgive  a 
disappointment  of  a  fancy."  Her  ladyship's  request 
was  granted.  Further  than  this  affair  of  the  three  bride- 
maids  we  know  not ;  there  is  no  record  concerning  who 
were  the  bridemen.  But  before  we  come  to  the  wed- 
ding-day, we  think  it  necessary  to  mention,  for  the  sat- 
isfaction of  the  prudent  part  of  the  world,  that  the 
settlements  were  duly  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered  in 
the  presence  of  proper  witnesses. 

At  the  moment  of  recording  this  fact,  we  are  well 
aware  that  as  much  as  we  shall  gain  in  the  esteem  of 
the  old,  we  shall  lose  in  the  opinion  of  the  young.  We 
must  therefore  be  satisfied  with  the  nod  of  approbation 
from  parents,  and  must  endure  the  smile  of  scorn  from 
lovers.  We  know  that 

"  Jointure,  portion,  gold,  estate, 

Houses,  household-stuff,  or  land, 
The  low  conveniences  of  fate, 
Are  Greek  no  lovers  understand." 


80  PATRONAGE. 

We  regret  that  we  cannot  gratify  some  of  our  courte- 
ous readers  with  a  detailed  account  of  the  marriage  ot 
Caroline  and  Count  Altenberg — with  a  description  of 
the  wedding-dresses,  or  a  list  of  the  company,  who, 
after  the  ceremony,  partook  of  an  elegant  collation  at 
Lady  Jane  Granville's  house  in  Spring  Gardens.  We 
lament  that  we  cannot  even  furnish  a  paragraph  in  hon- 
our of  Count  Altenberg's  equipage. 

After  all  their  other  friends  had  made  their  congratu- 
lations, had  taken  leave  of  Caroline,  and  had  departed, 
Mrs.  Hungerford  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  still  lingered. 

"  I  know,  my  love,*'  said  Mrs.  Hungerford,  "  I  ought 
to  resign  you,  in  these  last  moments,  to  your  parents, 
your  brothers,  your  own  Rosamond ;  yet  I  have  some 
excuse  for  my  selfishness— they  will  see  you  again,  it 
is  to  be  hoped,  often.  But  I ! — that  is  not  in  the  course 
of  nature :  the  blessing  I  scarcely  could  have  expected 
to  live  to  enjoy  has  been  granted  to  me.  And  now  that 
I  have  seen  you  united  to  one  worthy  of  you,  one  who 
knows  your  value,  I  am  content — I  am  grateful.  Fare- 
well, again  and  again,  my  beloved  Caroline,  may 
every — " 

Tears  spoke  the  rest.  Turning  from  Caroline,  she 
leaned  on  Count  Altenberg's  arm  ;  as  he  conducted  her 
to  her  carriage,  "  You  are  a  happy  man,  Count  Alten- 
berg," said  she  ;  "  forgive  me,  if  I  am  not  able  to  con- 
gratulate you  as  I  ought. — Daughter  Mortimer,  you 
know  my  heart — speak  for  me,  if  you  can." 

Count  Altenberg  was  more  touched  by  this  strong 
affection  for  Caroline  than  he  could  have  been  by  any 
congratulatory  compliments  to  himself.  After  the  de- 
parture of  Mrs.  Hungerford  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  came 
the  separation  so  much  dreaded  by  all  the  family,  for 
which  all  stood  prepared.  Despising  and  detesting  the 
display  of  sensibility,  they  had  fortified  themselves  for 
this  moment  with  all  their  resolution,  and  each  strug- 
gled to  repress  their  own  feelings. 

Count  Altenberg  had  delayed  till  the  last  moment. 
It  was  now  necessary  that  they  should  set  out.  Caro- 
line flushed  crimson  to  the  very  temples  one  instant, 
and  pale  the  next,  commanded  with  the  utmost  effort 
her  emotion  ;  Rosamond,  unable  to  repress  hers,  clung 
to  her  sister  weeping.  Caroline's  lips  quivered  with  a 
vain  attempt  to  speak;  she  could  only  embrace  Rosa- 
mond repeatedly,  and  then  her  mother.  Her  father 


PATRONAGE.  81 

pressed  her  to  his  bosom — blessed  her — and  then  draw- 
ing her  arm  within  his,  fed  her  to  her  husband. 

As  they  passed  through  the  hall,  the  faithful  house- 
keeper, and  the  old  steward,  who  had  come  from  the 
country  to  the  marriage,  pressed  forward  in  hopes  of  a 
last  look.  Caroline  stopped  and  took  leave  of  each. 
She  was  able,  though  with  difficulty,  to  speak,  and  she 
thanked  them  for  all  the  services  and  kindness  she  had 
received  from  them,  from  childhood  to  this  hour :  then 
her  father  led  her  to  the  carriage. 

"  It  is  the  order  of  nature,  my  dear  child,"  said  he  : 
"  we  are  fond  but  not  selfish  parents ;  your  happiness  is 
gained  by  the  sacrifice,  and  we  can  part  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

SOME  sage  moralist  has  observed,  that  even  }n  the 
accomplishment  of  our  most  ardent  wishes  in  this  world, 
there  is  always  some  circumstance  that  disappoints  our 
expectations,  or  mixes  somewhat  of  pain  with  the  joy. 
"This  is  perfectly  true,"  thought  Rosamond:  "how 
often  have  I  wished  for  Caroline's  marriage  with  Count 
Altenberg ;  and  now  she  is  married — really  married — 
and  gone !" 

It  had  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  a  dream :  the  hurry 
of  joy,  the  congratulations — all,  all  was  over ;  and  in 
sad  silence,  Rosamond  felt  the  reality  of  her  loss — by 
Rosamond  doubly  felt  at  this  moment,  when  all  her  own 
affairs  were  in  great  uncertainty.  Mr.  Temple  was 
still  unable  to  obtain  the  performance  of  the  promise 
which  had  been  made  him  of  remuneration  and  competent 
provision.  He  had  gone  through,  in  compliance  with 
the  advice  of  his  friends,  the  mortification  of  reiterating 
vain  memorials  and  applications  to  the  Duke  of  Green- 
wich. Lord  Skrimpshire,  Lord  Skreene,  and  Mr.  Secre- 
tary Cope.  The  only  thing  which  Mr.  Temple  refused 
to  do  was  to  implicate  Lord  Oldborough,  or  to  disturb 
him  on  the  subject.  He  had  spent  some  weeks  with 
his  old  master  in  his  retirement  without  once  adverting 
to  his  own  difficulties,  still  hoping  that  on  his  return  to 
town  a  promise  would  be  fulfilled,  which  Lord  Skreene 
D3 


82  PATRONA&E. 

had  given  him,  that  "  the  affair  should  in  his  absence  be 
settled  to  his  satisfaction."  But  on  his  return  to  town 
his  lordship  found  means  of  evasion  and  delay,  and 
threw  the  blame  on  others ;  the  course  of  memorials 
and  representations  was  to  be  recommenced.  Mr.  Tem- 
ple's pride  revolted,  his  love  was  in  despair — and  fre- 
quently, in  the  bitterness  of  disappointment,  he  reite- 
rated to  his  friend  Alfred  his  exclamations  of  regret  and 
self-reproach,  for  having  quitted,  from  pique  and  impa- 
tience of  spirit,  a  profession  where  his  own  perseve- 
rance and  exertions  would  infallibly  have  rendered  him 
by  this  time  independent.  Rosamond  saw  with  sym- 
pathy and  anguish  the  effect  which  these  feelings  of 
self-reproach,  and  hope  delayed,  produced  on  Mr.  Tem- 
ple's spirits  and  health.  His  sensibility,  naturally  quick, 
and  rendered  more  acute  by  disappointment,  seemed 
now  continually  to  draw  from  all  characters  and  events, 
and  even  from  every  book  he  opened,  a  moral  against 
himself — some  new  illustration  or  example  which  con- 
vinced him  more  and  more  of  the  folly  of  being  a  de- 
pendant on  the  great.  He  was  just  in  this  repentant 
mooQ,  when  one  morning  at  Mrs.  Alfred  Percy's,  Rosa- 
mond, heard  him  sigh  deeply  several  times,  as  he  was 
reading  with  great  attention.  She  could  not  forbear 
asking  what  it  was  that  touched  him  so  much.  He 
put  the  book  into  her  hands,  pointing  to  the  following 
passage.  "  The  whole  of  this  letter,"*  said  he,  "  is  ap- 
plicable to  me,  and  excellent ;  but  this  really  seems  as 
if  it  been  written  for  me  or  by  me." 

She  read : — 

"  I  was  a  young  man,  and  did  not  think  that  men  were 
to  die,  or  to  be  turned  out  ******  What  was  to 
be  done  now  T — No  money,  my  former  patron  in  dis- 
grace! friends  that  were  in  favour  not  able  to  serve 
me,  or  not  willing ;  that  is,  cold,  timid,  careful  of  them- 
selves, and  indifferent  to  a  man  whose  disappointments 
made  him  less  agreeable  ***«*******»#* 

*  I  languished  on  for  three  long  melancholy  years, 
sometimes  a  little  elated ;  a  smile,  a  kind  hint,  a  down- 
right promise,  dealt  out  to  me  from  those  in  whom  I 
had  placed  some  silly  hopes,  now  and  then  brought  a 
little  refreshment,  but  that  never  lasted  long;  and  to 

*  Letter  from  Mr.  Williams  («ecretary  to  Lord-chancellor  West)  to  Mrs. 
Williams. 


PATRONAGE.  Q3 

say  nothing  of  the  agony  of  being  reduced  to  talk  of 
one's  own  misfortunes  and  one's  wants,  and  that  basest 
and  lowest  of  all  conditions,  the  slavery  of  borrowing, 
to  support  an  idle  useless  being — my  time,  for  those 
three  years,  was  unhappy  beyond  description.  What 
•would  I  have  given  then  for  a  profession !  ****** 
*  *  *  *  any  useful  profession  is  infinitely  better  than  a 
thousand  patrons." 

To  this  Rosamond  entirely  acceded,  and  admired  the 
strong  good  sense  of  the  whole  letter ;  but  she  observed 
to  Mr.  Temple  that  it  was  very  unjust,  not  only  to 
himself,  but,  what  was  of  much  more  consequence,  to 
her,  to  say  that  all  this  applied  exactly  to  his  case. 
"  Did  Mr.  Temple,"  she  asked,  "  mean  to  assert  that 
she  could  esteem  a  man  who  was  an  idle  useless  being, 
a  mere  dependant  on  great  men,  a  follower  of  courts  1 
Could  such  a  man  have  recommended  himself  to  her 
father  ? — Could  such  a  man  ever  have  been  the  chosen 
friend  of  her  brother  Alfred t 

"  It  was  true,"  she  acknowledged,  "  that  this  friend 
of  her  brother  had  made  one  mistake  in  early  life ;  but 
who  is  there  that  can  say  that  he  has  not  in  youth  or 
age  committed  a  single  error  I  Mr.  Temple  had  done 
one  silly  thing,  to  be  sure,  in  quarrelling  with  his  pro- 
fession ;  but  he  had  suffered,  and  had  made  amends  for 
this  afterward,  by  persevering  application  to  literature. 
There  he  had  obtained  the  success  he  deserved.  Gen- 
tlemen might  sigh  and  shake  their  heads,  but  could  any 
gentleman  deny  this  ?  Could  it  be  denied  that  Mr. 
Temple  had  distinguished  himself  in  literature  *  Could 
any  person  deny  that  a  political  pamphlet  of  his  recom- 
mended him  to  the  notice  of  Lord  Oldborough,  one  of 
the  ablest  statesmen  in  England,  who  made  him  his 
secretary,  and  whose  esteem  and  confidence  he  after- 
ward acquired  by  his  merit,  and  continued,  in  place 
and  out,  to  enjoy  1 — Will  any  gentleman  deny  thisl" 
Rosamond  added,  that,  "in  defence  of  her  brother's 
friend,  she  could  not  help  observing,  that  a  man  who 
had  obtained  the  esteem  of  some  of  the  first  persons  of 
their  day,  who  had  filled  an  employment  of  trust,  that 
of  secretary  to  a  minister,  with  fidelity  and  credit,  who 
had  published  three  celebrated  political  pamphlets,  and 
two  volumes  of  moral  and  philosophical  disquisitions, 
which,  as  she  had  heard  the  bookseller  say,  were  become 
stock  books,  could  not  deserve  to  be  called  an  idle,  useless 


84  PATRONAGE. 

being.  To  be  born  and  die  would  not  make  all  his  his- 
tory— no,  such  a  man  would  at  least  be  secure  of  hon- 
ourable mention  in  the  Biographia  Britannica  as  a  writer 
— moral — political — metaphysical." 

But  while  Rosamond  thus  did  her  utmost  to  support 
the  spirits  of  her  lover,  her  own  began  to  fail;  her 
vivacity  was  no  longer  natural:  she  felt  every  day 
more  and  more  the  want  of  her  sister's  sympathy  and 
strength  of  mind. 

Letters  from  abroad  gave  np  hope  of  Caroline's  re- 
turn— delay  after  delay  occurred.  No  sooner  had  quiet 
been  restored  to  the  country  than  Count  Altenberg's 
father  was  taken  ill,  and  his  illness,  after  long  uncer- 
tainty ^  terminated  fatally. 

After  the  death  of  his  father,  the  count  was  involved 
in  a  variety  of  domestic  business,  which  respect  for  the 
memory  of  his  parent  and  affection  for  surviving  rela- 
tions could  not  allow  him  to  leave.  When  all  this  had 
been  arranged,  and  when  all  seemed  preparing  for  their 
return  to  England,  just  when  Rosamond  hoped  that  the 
very  next  letter  would  announce  the  day  when  they 
would  set  out,  the  French  declared  war,  the  French 
troops  were  actually  in  motion — invasion  was  hourly 
expected — it  was  necessary  to  prepare  for  the  defence 
of  the  country.  At  such  a  moment  the  count  could 
not  quit  his  country  or  his  prince.  And  there  was  Caro- 
line, in  the  midst  of  a  country  torn  by  civil  war,  and  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  horrors  of  revolution. 

About  this  time,  to  increase  the  anxiety  of  the  Percy 
family,  they  learned  that  Godfrey  was  taken  prisoner 
on  his  way  home  from  the  West  Indies.  The  transport 
in  which  his  division  of  the  regiment  had  embarked 
had  been  separated  from  her  convoy  by  a  gale  of  wind 
in  the  night,  and  it  was  apprehended  that  she  had  been 
taken  by  the  .enemy.  Godfrey's  family  hoped  for  a 
moment  that  this  might  be  a  false  alarm ;  but  after  en- 
during the  misery  of  reading  contradictory  paragraphs 
and  contests  of  the  newspaper  writers  with  each  other 
for  several  successive  days,  it  was  at  last  too  clearly 
established  and  confirmed,  by  official  intelligence,  that 
the  transport  was  taken  by  a  Dutch  ship. 

In  the  midst  of  these  accumulating  causes  of  anxiety, 
trials  of  another  kind  were  preparing  for  this  family,  as 
if  Fortune  was  determined  to  dp  her  utmost  to  ruin 
and  humble  those  who  had  despised  her  worshippers, 


PATRONAGE.  85 

struggled  against  her  influence,  and  risen  in  the  world 
in  defiance  of  her  power.  To  explain  the  danger  which 
now  awaited  them,  we  must  return  to  their  old  family 
enemy,  Sir  Robert  Percy.  Master  of  Percy-hall,  and 
of  all  that  wealth  could  give,  he  could  not  enjoy  his 
prosperity,  but  was  continually  brooding  on  plans  of 
avarice  and  malice. 

Since  his  marriage  with  Miss  Falconer,  Sir  Robert 
Percy's  establishment  had  become  so  expensive  as  to 
fret  his  temper  continually.  His  tenants  had  had  more 
and  more  reason  to  complain  of  their  landlord,  who, 
when  any  of  his  farms  were  out  of  lease,  raised  his 
rents  exorbitantly,  to  make  himself  amends,  as  he  said, 
for  the  extravagance  of  his  wife.  The  tenants,  who 
had  ever  disliked  him  as  the  successor  and  enemy  of 
their  own  good  and  beloved  landlord,  now  could  not  and 
attempted  not  to  conceal  their  aversion.  This  renewed 
and  increased  the  virulence  of  his  dislike  to  our  branch 
of  the  Percys,  who,  as  he  knew,  were  always  compared 
with  him  and  his,  and  seemed  to  be  for  ever  present  to 
the  provoking  memories  of  these  tenants. 

Sir  Robert  was  disappointed  hitherto  in  the  hope  for 
which  he  married,  the  hope  of  an  heir,  who  should  pre- 
vent the  estate  from  returning  to  those  from  whom  it 
had  been  wrested  by  his  arts.  Envy  at  seeing  the  rising 
and  prosperous  state  of  those  Percys,  who,  in  spite  of 
their  loss  of  fortune,  had  made  their  way  up  again 
through  all  obstacles,  combined  to  increase  his  antipa- 
thy to  his  relations.  His  envy  had  been  exasperated 
by  the  marriage  of  Caroline  to  Count  Altenberg,  and 
by  the  high  reputation  of  her  brother.  He  heard  their 
praises  till  his  soul  sickened ;  and  he  was  determined 
to  be  their  destruction.  He  found  a  willing  and  able 
assistant  in  Sharpe  the  attorney,  and  they  soon  devised 
a  plan  worthy  of  their  conjoined  malice.  At  the  time 
when  Sir  Robert  had  come  into  possession  of  Percy- 
hall,  after  the  suit  had  been  decided  in  his  favour,  he 
had  given  up  all  claim  to  the  rents  which  Mr.  Percy  had 
received  during  the  years  which  he  had  held  the  estate, 
and  had  accepted  in  lieu  of  them  the  improvements 
which  Mr.  Percy  had  made  on  the  estate,  and  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  family  plate  and  a  collection  of 
pictures.  But  now  Sir  Robert  wrote  to  Mr.  Percy 
without  adverting  to  this  agreement,  and  demanding 
from  him  the  amount  of  all  the  rents  which  he  had 


86  PATRONAGE. 

received,  deducting  only  a  certain  sum  on  his  own  valua- 
tion for  improvements.  The  plate  and  pictures,  which 
he  had  left  at  Percy-hall,  Sir  Robert  said  he  was  willing 
to  take  in  lieu  of  the  debt ;  but  an  immense  balance 
against  Mr.  Percy  remained.  In  technical  phrase,  we 
believe,  he  warned  Mr.  Percy  that  Sharpe  his  attorney 
had  directions  to  commence  a  suit  against  him  for  the 
mesne  rents.  The  amount  of  the  claim  was  such  as  it 
was  absolutely  impossible  that  Mr.  Percy  could  pay, 
even  by  the  sale  of  every  thing  he  possessed  in  the 
world.  If  this  claim  were  established,  his  family  would 
be  reduced  to  beggary,  he  must  end  his  days  in  a  prison, 
or  fly  his  country,  and  take  refuge  in  some  foreign  land. 
To  this  last  extremity  Sir  Robert  hoped  to  reduce  him. 
In  reply,  however,  to  this  insolent  letter,  he  was  sur- 
prised, by  receiving  from  Mr.  Percy  a  calm  and  short 
reply,  simply  saying  that  his  son  Alfred  would  take  the 
proper  steps  to  bring  the  affair  to  trial,  and  that  he  must 
submit  to  the  decision  of  the  law,  whatever  that  might 
be.  Sir  Robert  was  mortified  to  the  quick  by  finding 
that  he  could  not  extort  from  his  victim  one  concession 
or  complaint,  nor  one  intemperate  expression. 

But  however  calm  and  dignified  was  Mr.  Percy's 
conduct,  it  could  not  be  without  the  greatest  anxiety 
that  he  awaited  the  event  of  the  trial,  which  was  to 
decide  his  future  fate,  and  that  of  his  whole  family. 

The  length  of  time  which  must  elapse  before  the  trial 
could  come  on  was  dreadful.  Suspense  was  the  evil 
they  found  most  difficult  to  endure.  Suspense  may  be 
easily  borne  by  persons  of  an  indolent  character,  who 
never  expect  to  rule  their  destiny  by  their  own  genius  ; 
but  to  those  who  feel  themselves  possessed  of  energy 
and  abilities  to  surmount  obstacles  and  to  brave  dangers, 
it  is  torture  to  remain  passive — to  feel  that  prudence, 
virtue,  genius,  avail  them  not — that  while  rapid  ideas 
pass  in  their  imagination,  time  moves  with  an  unaltered 
pace,  and  compels  them  to  wait,  along  with  the  herd  of 
vulgar  mortals,  for  knowledge  of  futurity. 


PATRONAGE.  £7 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

WHAT  has  become  all  this  time  of  the  Falconer 
family  1 

Since  the  marriage  of  Miss  Falconer  with  Sir  Robert 
Percy,  all  intercourse  between  the  Falconers  and  our 
branch  of  the  Percy  family  had  ceased;  but  one  morn- 
ing, when  Alfred  was  alone,  intently  considering  his 
father's  case,  and  the  legal  difficulties  which  threatened 
him,  he  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Commissioner 
Falconer.  The  commissioner  looked  thin,  pale,  and 
wretched.  He  began  by  condoling  with  Alfred  on  their 
mutual  family  misfortunes.  Alfred  received  this  con- 
dolence with  politeness,  but  with  a  proud  consciousness 
that,  notwithstanding  his  father's  present  difficulties 
and  the  total  loss  of  fortune  with  which  he  was  threat- 
ened, neither  his  father  nor  any  individual  in  his  family 
would  change  places  with  any  one  of  the  Falconers ; 
since  nothing  dishonourable  could  be  imputed  to  Mr. 
Percy,  and  since  none  of  his  misfortunes  had  been  occa- 
sioned by  any  imprudence  of  his  own. 

A  deep  sign  from  the  commissioner,  at  the  moment 
these  thoughts  were  passing  in  Alfred's  mind,  excited 
his  compassion,  for  he  perceived  that  the  same  reflec- 
tions had  occurred  to  him. 

After  taking  an  immoderate  quantity  of  snuff,  the 
commissioner  went  on,  and  disclaimed  in  strong  terms 
all  knowledge  of  his  son-in-law  Sir  Robert's  cruel  con- 
duct to  his  cousin.  The  commissioner  said  that  Sir 
Robert  Percy  had,  since  his  marriage  with  Bell  Fal- 
coner, behaved  very  ill,  and  had  made  his  wife  show 
great  ingratitude  to  her  own  family  ;  that  in  Mrs.  Fal- 
coners distress,  when  she  and  Georgiana  were  most 
anxious  to  retire  from  town  for  a  short  time,  and  when 
Mrs.  Falconer  had  naturally  looked  to  the  house  of  her 
married  daughter  as  a  sure  asylum,  the  doors  of  Percy- 
hall  had  been  actually  shut  against  her,  Sir  Robert  de- 
claring that  he  would  not  be  involved  in  the  difficulties 
and  disgrace  of  a  family  who  had  taken  him  in  to  marry 
a  girl  without  any  fortune. 


88  PATRONAGE. 

Alfred  was  perfectly  convinced,  both  from  the  cordial 
hatred  with  which  the  commissioner  now  spoke  of  his 
son-in-law,  and  from  Mr.  Falconer's  disposition,  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  cruel  measures  which  Sir 
Robert  had  taken  against  his  father.  Commissioner 
Falconer  was  not  a  malevolent,  but  a  weak  man — inca- 
pable of  being  a  disinterested  friend — equally  incapable 
of  becoming  a  malicious  enemy.  The  commissioner 
now  proceeded  to  his  own  affairs,  and  to  the  business 
of  his  visit.  He  said  that  he  had  been  disappointed 
all  his  hopes  from  the  Greenwich  party,  that  wheR  tnat 
sad  business  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  came  out,  they  had  seized 
this  as  a  pretence  for  dropping  him  altogether — that 
when  they  had,  by  Lord  Oldborough's  retreat  from 
office,  obtained  every  thing  they  wanted,  and  had  no 
more  occasion  for  assistance  or  information,  they  had 
shamefully  forgotten  or  disowned  all  their  former  prom- 
ises to  Cunningham.  They  had  refused  to  accredit 
him  at  the  court  of  Denmark,  refused  even  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  his  journey  thither,  which,  in  the  style 
he  had  thought  it  necessary  for  an  ambassador  to  travel, 
had  been  considerable.  Upon  the  hopes  held  out, 
he  had  taken  a  splendid  house  in  Copenhagen,  and  had 
every  day,  for  some  weeks,  been  in  expectation  of  the 
arrival  of  his  credentials.  When  it  was  publicly  known 
that  another  ambassador  was  appointed,  Cunningham's 
creditors  became  clamorous  ;  he  contrived  to  escape 
from  Copenhagen  in  the  night,  and  was  proceeding 
incog,  in  his  journey  homewards,  when  he  was  stopped 
at  one  of  the  small  frontier  towns,  and  was  there  actu- 
ally detained  in  prison  for  his  debts. 

The  poor  commissioner  produced  his  son's  letter,  giv- 
ing an  account  of  his  detention,  and  stating  that,  unless 
the  money  he  had  raised  in  Copenhagen  was  paid,  there 
was  no  hope  of  his  being  liberated — he  must  perish  in 
a  foreign  jail. 

We  spare  the  reader  the  just  reproaches  which  the 
unhappy  father,  at  this  moment,  uttered  against  the 
son's  duplicity.  It  was  his  fate,  he  said,  to  be  ruined 
by  those  for  whom  he  had  been  labouring  and  planning, 
night  and  day,  for  so  many  years.  "  And  now,"  con- 
cluded Mr.  Falconer,  "here  am  I,  reduced  to  sell  almost 
the  last  acre  of  my  paternal  estate;  I  shall  literally 
have  nothing  left  but  Falconer-court,  and  my  annuity ! 
— Nothing !  But  it  must  be  done,  ill  as  he  has  used  me, 


PATRONAGE.  89 

and  impossible  as  it  is,  ever,  even  at  this  crisis,  to  get 
the  truth  from  him — I  must  pay  the  money ;  he  is  in 
jail,  and  cannot  be  liberated  without  this  sum.  I  have 
here,  you  see,  under  the  hand  of  the  chief  magistrate, 
sufficient  proof — I  will  not,  however,  trouble  you,  my 
dear  sir,  with  showing  more  of  these  letters ;  only  it  is 
a  comfort  to  me  to  speak  to  one  who  will  listen  with 
some  sympathy.  Ah !  sir,  when  out  of  place  !  out  of 
favour !  selling  one's  estate  !  how  people  change !  But 
I  am  taking  up  your  time.  Since  these  lands  are  to  be 
sold,  the  sooner  the  better.  Your  father,  you  know,  is 
trustee  to  my  marriage-settlements,  and,  I  believe,  his 
consent,  his  signature,  will  be  necessary — will  it  not  ? 
— I  am  no  lawyer — I  really  am  not  clear  what  is  neces- 
sary— and  my  solicitor,  Mr.  Sharpe,  I  have  dismissed : 
perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  put  the  business  into  your 
hands  V 

Alfred  undertook  it,  and  kindly  told  the  commissioner 
that  if  he  would  send  him  his  papers,  he  would, 
without  putting  him  to  any  expense,  look  them  over 
carefully — have  all  the  necessary  releases  drawn — 
and  make  his  title  clear  to  any  purchaser  who  should 
apply. 

The  commissioner  was  full  of  gratitude  for  this 
friendly  offer,  and  immediately  begged  that  he  might 
leave  his  title-deeds.  Accordingly  the  servant  was 
desired  to  bring  in  the  box  which  he  had  left  in  the  car- 
riage. The  commissioner  then  rose  to  take  leave,  but 
Alfred  begged  he  would  stay  till  he  had  written  a  list  of 
the  deeds,  as  he  made  it  a  rule  never  to  take  charge  of 
any  papers  without  giving  a  receipt  for  them.  The 
commissioner  thought  this  "  a  superfluous  delicacy  be- 
tween friends  and  relatives  ;"  but  Alfred  observed  that 
relations  would,  perhaps,  oftener  continue  friends,  if  in 
matters  of  business  they  took  care  always  to  be  as 
exact  as  if  they  were  strangers. 

The  commissioner  looked  at  his  watch — said  he  was 
in  haste — he  was  going  to  wait  upon  lord  somebody, 
from  whom,  in  spite  of  all  his  experience,  he  expected 
something. 

"  You  will  find  a  list  of  the  deeds,  I  have  a  notion," 
said  Jie,  "  in  the  box,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  and  you  need 
only  sign  it — that  will  be  quite  sufficient." 

"  When  I  have  compared  the  papers  with  the  list,  I 
will  sign  it,"  said  Alfred :  "  my  clerk  and  I  will  do  it  as 


90  PATRONAGE. 

quickly  as  possible.    Believe  me,  you  cannot  be  in 
greater  haste  than  I  am." 

The  commissioner,  secretly  cursing  Alfred's  accuracy, 
and  muttering  something  of  the  necessity  for  his  own 
punctuality,  was  Obliged  to  submit.  He  sat  down — the 
clerk  was  sent  for — the  box  was  opened.  The  list  of 
the  papers  was,  as  Alfred  found,  drawn  out  by  Buck- 
hurst  Falconer ;  and  the  commissioner  now  recollected 
the  time.  "Just  when  poor  Buckhurst,"  said  the  father, 
with  a  sigh,  "  was  arguing  with  me  against  going  into 
the  church — at  that  time,  1  remember,  he  was  despe- 
rately in  love  with  your  sister  Caroline." 

"  Why,  in  truth,"  said  Alfred,  smiling,  as  he  read  over 
the  scrawled  list,  "  this  looks  a  little  as  if  it  were  written 
by  a  man  in  love — here's  another  reason  for  our  com- 
paring the  papers  and  the  list." 

"  Well,  well,  I  took  it  all  upon  trust — I  am  no  lawyer 
— I  never  looked  at  them — never  opened  the  box,  and 
am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  do  it  now." 

The  essential  care,  either  of  papers  or  estate,  the 
commissioner  had  evermore  neglected,  while  he  had  all 
his  life  been  castle-building,  or  pursuing  some  phantom 
of  fortune  at  court.  While  Alfred  was  comparing  the 
papers  and  the  list,  the  commissioner  went  on  talking 
of  the  marriage  of  Caroline  with  Count  Altenberg,  ask- 
ing when  they  expected  them  to  return.  It  was  possi- 
ble that  Count  Altenberg  might  be  moved  to  make  some 
remonstrance  in  favour  of  Cunningham ;  and  a  word  or 
two  from  him  to  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  would  do  the 
business.  The  commissioner  longed  to  hint  this  to 
Alfred,  but  he  was  so  intent  upon  these  bundles  of 
parchment,  that  till  every  one  of  them  was  counted,  it 
would  be  in  vain  to  make  that  attempt :  so  the  commis- 
sioner impatiently  stood  by,  while  the  clerk  went  on 
calling  over  the  papers,  and  Alfred,  in  equal  strains, 
replying. 

"  Thank  Heaven !"  said  he  to  himself,  "  they  have  got 
to  the  last  bundle." 

"  Bundle  eighteen,"  cried  the  clerk. 

"Bundle  eighteen,"  replied  Alfred.  "How  many 
numbers  does  it  contain  V 

"  Six,"  said  the  clerk. 

"  Six ! — no,  seven,  if  you  please,"  said  Alfred. 

*'  But  six  in  the  list,  sir." 

<*  I  will  read  them  over,"   said   Alfred.    M  No.   1. 


PATRONAGE.  94 

Deed  of  assignment  to  Filmer  Griffin,  Esq.  No.  2. 
Deed  of  mortgage  to  Margaret  Simpson,  widow.  No. 
3.  Deed  of  lease  and  release.  No.  4.  Lease  for  a 
year — " 

"  No.  4.  no  such  thing — stop,  sir — Deed !" 

Alfred  gave  one  look  at  the  paper,  and  starting  up, 
snatched  it  from  the  hands  of  his  clerk  with  an  excla- 
mation of  joy,  signed  the  receipt  for  the  commissioner, 
put  it  into  his  hands,  locked  the  box,  and  sat  down  to 
write  a  letter,  all  with  such  rapidity  that  the  commis- 
sioner was  struck  with  astonishment  and  curiosity. 
Notwithstanding  all  his  impatience  to  be  punctual  to  his 
own  engagement,  he  now  stood  fixed  to  the  spot,  and  at 
last  began  with,  "  My  dear  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  may  I  ask 
what  has  happened?" 

"  My  dear  commissioner,  I  have  found  it — I  have 
found  it — the  long-lost  deed,  and  I  am  writing  to  my 
father,  to  tell  him.  Excuse  me — excuse  me  if  I  am  not 
able  to  explain  further  at  this  moment." 

The  commissioner  understood  it  all  too  quickly.  He 
saw  how  it  had  happened  through  Buckhurst's  careless- 
ness. At  the  time  Buckhurst  had  been  packing  up  these 
papers,  some  of  Mr.  Percy's  had  been  lying  on  the  table 
— Buckhurst  had  been  charged  not  to  mix  them  with  his 
father's  ;  but  he  was  in  love,  and  did  not  know  what  he 
was  doing. 

The  commissioner  began  three  sentences,  and  left 
them  all  unfinished,  while  Alfred  did  not  hear  one  word 
of  them :  the  first  was  an  apology  for  Buckhurst,  the 
second  a  congratulation  for  his  good  cousin  Percy,  the 
third  was  an  exclamation  that  came  from  his  heart. 
"  Good  heavens !  but  what  will  become  of  my  daughter 
Bell  and  Sir  Robert  1  I  do  not  comprehend  quite,  my 
dear  sir." 

Perceiving  that  he  was  not  heard  by  Alfred,  the 
commissioner  took  up  his  hat  and  departed,  determining 
that  he  would  inquire  further  from  Sir  Robert's  solicitor 
concerning  the  probable  consequences  of  the  recovery 
of  this  deed. 

Alfred  had  no  sooner  finished  his  joyful  letter  to  his 
father  than  he  wrote  to  Sir  Robert  Percy,  informing 
him  of  the  recovery  of  the  deed,  and  letting  him  know 
that  he  was  ready  to  show  it  to  whoever  Sir  Robert 
would  send  to  his  house  to  examine  it.  He  made  this 
offer  to  put  an  end  at  once  to  all  doubts.  He  trusted, 


92  PATKOXAGE. 

he  said,  that  when  Sir  Robert  should  be  satisfied  of  the 
existence  and  identity  of  the  deed,  he  would  stop  his 
present  proceedings  for  the  recovery  of  the  mesne 
rents,  and  that  he  would,  without  obliging  his  father  to 
have  further  recourse  to  law,  restore  to  him  the  Percy 
estate. 

To  this  letter  no  answer  was  received  for  some  time. 
At  length  Mr.  Sharpe  called  on  Alfred,  and  begged  to 
see  the  deed.  He  was  permitted  to  examine  it  in  Al- 
fred's presence.  He  noted  down  the  date,  names  of 
the  witnesses,  and  some  other  particulars,  of  which,  he 
observed,  it  was  necessary  he  should  inform  Sir  Robert, 
before  he  could  be  satisfied  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
conveyance.  Sharpe  was  particularly  close  and  guarded 
in  his  looks  and  words  during  this  interview ;  would 
neither  admit  nor  deny  that  he  was  satisfied,  and  went 
away  leaving  nothing  certain,  but  that  he  would  write 
to  Sir  Robert.  Alfred  thought  he  saw  that  they  meant 
to  avoid  giving  an  answer,  in  order  to  keep  possession 
some  months  longer,  till  another  term.  He  took  all  the 
necessary  steps  to  bring  the  matter  to  trial  immediately, 
without  waiting  for  any  answer  from  Sir  Robert.  No 
letter  came  from  him,  but  Alfred  received  from  his  soli- 
citor the  following  note : 

"  SIR, 

"  I  am  directed  by  Sir  Robert  Percy  to  acquaint  you, 
in  reply  to  yours  of  the  20th  instant,  that  conceiving  his 
title  to  the  Percy  estate  to  be  in  no  way  affected  by  the 
instrument  to  which  you  allude  therein,  he  cannot  with- 
draw his  present  suit  for  the  mesne  rents  that  had  been 
already  received,  if  you  proceed  in  an  ejectment  for 
the  recovery  of  the  aforesaid  estate.  I  am,  sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  A.  SHARPE. 
"  Wednesday." 

Alfred  was  surprised  and  alarmed  by  this  letter.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  him  as  possible  that  Sir  Robert 
and  his  counsel  would  attempt  to  stand  a  new  trial  in 
the  face  of  this  recovered  deed ;  this  was  beyond  all  he 
could  have  conceived  even  from  their  effrontery  and 
villany.  He  consulted  Mr.  Friend,  who,  after  consider- 
ing Sharpe's  letter,  could  not  devise  what  defence  they 
intended  to  make,  as  the  deed,  upon  most  accurate  ex- 


PATRONAGE.  93 

animation,  appeared  duly  executed,  according  to  the  pro- 
vision of  the  statute  of  frauds.  Upon  the  whole,  Mr, 
Friend  was  of  opinion  that  the  letter  was  meant  merely 
to  alarm  the  plaintiffs,  and  to  bring  them  to  offer  or 
consent  to  a  compromise.  In  this  opinion  Alfred  was 
confirmed  the  next  day,  by  an  interview  with  Sharpe, 
accidental  on  Alfred's  part,  but  designed  and  prepared 
by  the  solicitor,  who  watched  Alfred  as  he  was  coming 
out  of  the  courts,  and  dogged  him  till  he  parted  from 
some  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  walking — then 
joining  him,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  Mr.  Allscrip 
might  have  envied  for  its  power  of  setting  sense  at 
defiance,  "  I  am  happy,  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  to  chance  to 
see  you  to-day  ;  for,  with  a  view  to  put  an  end  to  liti- 
gation and  difficulties,  I  had  a  few  words  to  suggest — 
premising  that  I  do  not  act  or  speak  now,  in  anywise, 
as  or  for  Sir  Robert  Percy,  or  with  reference  to  his 
being  my  client,  nor  as  a  solicitor  in  this  cause,  be  it 
understood,  but  merely  and  solely  as  one  gentleman  to 
another,  upon  honour — and  not  bringing  forward  any 
idea  to  be  taken  advantage  of  hereafter,  as  tending  to 
any  thing  in  the  shape  of  an  offer  to  compromise, 
which,  in  a  legal  point  of  view,  you  know,  sir,  I  could 
not  be  warranted  to  hazard  for  my  client,  and  of  conse- 
quence, which  I  hereby  declare,  I  do  not  in  any  degree 
mean." 

"  Would  you  be  so  good,  Mr.  Sharpe,  to  state  at  once 
what  you  do  mean ;  for  I  confess  I  do  not,  in  any  de- 
gree, understand  you." 

"  Why,  then,  sir,  what  I  mean  is,  simply,  and  candidly, 
and  frankly,  this :  that  if  I  could,  without  compromising 
the  interest  of  my  client,  which,  as  an  honest  man,  I  am 
bound  not  to  do  or  appear  to  do,  I  should  wish  to  put  an 
end  to  this  litigation  between  relations ;  and  though 
your  father  thinks  me  his  enemy,  would  convince  him 
to  the  contrary,  if  he  would  allow  me,  and  could  point 
out  the  means  of  shortening  this  difference  between 
relations,  which  has  occasioned  so  much  scandal ;  and 
moreover,  could  devise  an  accommodation,  which  might 
be  agreeable  to  both  parties,  and  save  you  a  vast  deal 
tjf  trouble  and  vexation;  possession,"  added  he,  laughing, 
"being  nine  parts  of  the  law.1' 

Mr.  Sharpe  paused,  as  if  hoping  that  something  would 
now  be  said  by  Alfred,  that  might  direct  him  whether  to 


l  PATRONAGE. 

advance  or  recede  ;  but  Alfred  only  observed,  that  the 
end  Mr.  Sharpe  proposed  to  himself  by  speaking  was  to 
be  understood,  and  that  this  desirable  end  he  had  not  yet 
attained. 

"  Why,  sir,  in  some  cases,  one  cannot  venture  to 
make  one's  self  understood  any  way  but  by  innuendoes." 

"  Then,  good  morning  to  you,  sir~-you  and  I  can  never 
understand  one  another." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  unless  you  are  in  a  hurry,"  cried 
Mr.  Sharpe,  catching  Alfred  by  the  button,  "  which  (when 
so  large  an  estate,  to  which  you  might  eventually  suc- 
ceed, is  in  question)  you  are  too  much  a  man  of  business 
to  be — in  one  word,  then,  for  I  won't  detain  you  another 
moment,  and  I  throw  myself  open,  and  trust  to  your 
honour — " 

"  You  do  me  honour." 

"  Put  a  parallel  case.  You,  plaintiff  A ,  I,  defend- 
ant B .  I  should,  if  I  were  A ,  but  no  way  ad- 
vising it,  being  B ,  offer  to  divide  the  whole  property, 

the  claim  for  the  mesne  rents  being  wholly  given  up ;  and 
that  the  offer  would  be  accepted,  I'd  engage  upon  my 
honour,  supposing  myself  witnessing  the  transaction, 
only  just  as  a  gentleman." 

"  Impossible,  sir,"  cried  Alfred,  with  indignation.  "  Do 
you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  give  up 
naif  my  father's  estate,  knowing  that  he  has  a  right  to 
the  whole  V 

"Pardon  me,  sir — I  only  suggested  an  A.  B.  case. 
But  one  word  more,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Sharpe,  holding  Al- 
fred, who  was  breaking  from  him,  "  for  your  own — your 
father's  interest :  you  see  this  thing  quite  in  a  wrong 
point  of  view,  when  you  talk  of  a  few  months'  more  or 
less  delay  of  getting  possession,  being  all  there  is  be- 
tween us-Mlepend  upon  it,  if  it  goes  to  trial,  you  will 
never  get  possession." 

"  Then,  sir,  if  you  think  so,  you  are  betraying  the  in- 
terest of  your  client,  in  advising  me  not  to  let  it  go  to 
trial." 

"  Good  God !  sir :  but  that  is  between  you  and  me 
only." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  it  is  between  you  and  your  con- 
science." 

"  Oh  !  if  that's  all — my  conscience  is  at  ease,  wlren 
I'm  trying  to  prevent  the  scandal  of  litigation  between 


PATRONAGE.  95 

illations  :  therefore,  just  let  me  mention  to  you  for  your 
private  information,  what  I  know  Sir  Robert  would  not 
wish  to  come  out  before  the  trial." 

"  Don't  tell  it  to  me,  sir — I  will  not  hear  it,"  cried 
Alfred,  breaking  from  him,  and  walking  on  very  fast. 

Faster  still  Sharpe  pursued.  "You'll  remember, 
sir,  at  all  events,  that  what  has  been  said  is  not  to  go 
further — you'll  not  forget." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  I  am  a  man  of  honour,  sir," 
said  Alfred. 

Sharpe  parted  from  him,  muttering,  "  that  if  he  lived 
to  the  day  of  trial,  he  would  repent  this." 

"  And  if  I  live  till  the  day  of  judgment,  I  shall  never 
repent  it,"  thought  Alfred. 

Now  fully  convinced  that  Sir  Robert  desired  a  com- 
promise, and  wanted  only  to  secure,  while  in  possession, 
some  portion  of  that  property  which  he  knew  the  law 
would  ultimately  force  him  to  relinquish,  Alfred  perse- 
vered in  his  course,  relieved  from  the  alarm  into  which 
he  had  at  first  been  thrown  when  he  learned  that  his 
opponents  intended  to  take  defence.  Alfred  felt  assured 
that  they  would  never  let  the  matter  come  to  trial ;  but 
time  passed  on,  and  they  still  persisted.  Many  of  his 
brother  lawyers  were  not  only  doubtful,  but  more  in- 
clined to  despond  than  to  encourage  him  as  to  the  event 
of  the  trial ;  several  regretted  that  he  had  not  accepted 
of  Mr.  Sharpe's  offered  compromise.  "  Half  the  estate 
certain,  and  his  father's  release  from  all  difficulties,  they 
thought  too  good  offers  to  have  been  rejected.  He  might, 
as  Sharpe  had  prophesied,  have  to  repent  his  rejection 
of  that  proposal." 

Others  observed,  that  though  Mr.  Alfred  Percy  was 
certainly  a  young  man  of  great  talents,  and  had  been 
successful  at  the  bar,  still  he  was  a  young  lawyer ;  and 
it  was  a  bold  and  hazardous,  not  to  say  rash,  thing,  to 
take  upon  himself  the  conduct  of  a  suit  against  such 
opponents  as  Mr.  Sharpe  and  Sir  Robert  Percy,  practised 
in  law,  hardened  in  iniquity,  and  now  driven  to  despera- 
tion. 

Mr.  Friend  was  the  only  man  who  stood  steadily  by 
Alfred,  and  never  wavered  in  his  opinion.  "  Trust  to 
truth  and  justice,"  said  he  ;  "  you  did  right  not  to  com- 
promise— be  firm.  If  you  fail,  you  will  have  this  con- 
solation— you  will  have  done  all  that  man  could  do  to 
deserve  success." 


96  PATRONAGE. 

The  day  of  trial  approached.  Mr.  Friend  had  hoped, 
till  very  late  in  the  business,  that  the  object  of  their 
adversaries  was  only  to  intimidate,  and  that  they  would 
never  let  it  go  to  trial :  now  it  was  plain  they  would. 
But  on  what  grounds  *  Again  and  again  Mr.  Friend  and 
Alfred  perused  and  reperused  Sir  John  Percy's  deed, 
and  examined  the  opinions  of  counsel  of  the  first  emi- 
nence. Both  law  and  right  appeared  to  be  clearly  on 
their  side ;  but  it  was  not  likely  that  their  experienced 
opponents  should  persist  without  having  some  strong 
resource. 

A  dread  silence  was  preserved  by  Sir  Robert  Percy 
and  by  Mr.  Solicitor  Sharpe.  They  must  have  some 
deep  design :  what  it  could  be  remained  to  be  discov- 
ered even  till  the  day  of  trial. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  day  of  trial  arrived — Mr.  Percy  came  up  to  town, 
and  brought  Mrs.  Percy  and  Rosamond  with  him  to  his 
son  Alfred's,  that  they  might  all  be  together,  and  hear 
as  soon  as  possible  their  fate. 

The  trial  came  on  about  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. The  court  was  uncommonly  crowded.  Mr. 
Percy,  his  son  Erasmus,  and  all  his  friends,  and  Sir 
Robert  and  his  adherents,  appeared  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  galleries. 

The  excellent  countenance  and  gentlemanlike  de- 
meanour of  Mr.  Percy  were  contrasted  with  the  dark, 
inauspicious  physiognomy  of  Sir  Robert,  who  sat  oppo- 
site to  him,  and  who  was  never  tranquil  one  second,  but 
was  continually  throwing  notes  to  his  counsel,  beck- 
oning or  whispering  to  his  attorney — while  convulsive 
twitches  of  face  and  head,  snuff-taking,  and  handker- 
chief spread  frequently  to  conceal  the  expression  of 
his  countenance,  betrayed  the  malignant  flurry  of  his 
spirits. 

Alfred  conducted  his  father's  cause  in  the  most  judi- 
cious and  temperate  manner.  An  attempt  had  been 
made  by  Sir  Robert  to  prejudice  the  public  against  Mr. 
Percy  by  representing  him  as  the  descendant  of  a 


PATRONAGE.  97 

younger  brother,  who  was  endeavouring  to  dispossess 
the  heir  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  family  of  that  estate 
which  belonged  to  him  by  right  of  inheritance.  Alfred's 
first  care  was  to  put  the  court  and  the  jury  in  full  pos- 
session of  the  facts.  He  stated  that  "  his  father,  Lewis 
Percy,  plaintiff  in  this  case,  and  Robert  Percy,  bart., 
defendant,  both  descended  from  Sir  John  Percy,  who 
was  their  grandfather.  Sir  John  outlived  both  his  sons, 
who  left  him  two  grandsons ;  Robert  was  the  son  of  his 
eldest,  and  Lewis  of  his  youngest  son.  Sir  John  had 
two  estates,  one  of  them  paternal,  which  went  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  descent  to  the  representative  of  the 
eldest  son,  being  the  present  Sir  Robert  Percy.  Sir 
John's  other  estate,  in  Hampshire,  which  came  to  him 
by  his  wife,  he  conveyed,  a  short  time  before  his  death, 
to  his  youngest  grandson,  the  present  Lewis  Percy,  who 
had  held  undisturbed  possession  of  it  for  many  years. 
But,  in  process  of  time,  Sir  Robert  Percy  ruined  him- 
self by  play,  and  having  frequent  intercourse  with 
Sharpe,  the  solicitor,  upon  some  great  emergency  in- 
quired whether  it  was  not  possible  to  shake  the  title  of 
his  cousin  Mr.  Percy's  estate.  He  suggested  that  the 
conveyance  might  not  be  forthcoming ;  but  Sir  Robert 
assured  him  that  both  his  grandfather  and  the  present 
Mr.  Percy  were  men  of  business,  and  that  there  was 
little  likelihood  either  that  the  deeds  should  be  lost,  or 
that  there  should  be  any  flaw  in  the  title.  Afterward  a 
fire  broke  out  at  Percy-hall,  which  consumed  that  wing 
of  the  house  in  which  were  Mr.  Percy's  papers — the 
papers  were  all  saved  except  this  deed  of  conveyance. 
Mr.  Sharpe,  being  accidentally  apprized  of  the  loss,  con- 
veyed the  intelligence  to  Sir  Robert.  He  immediately 
commenced  a  suit  against  his  cousin,  and  had  finally 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  verdict  in  his  own  favour,  and 
possession  of  the  Hampshire  estate.  At  the  time  when 
Mr.  Percy  delivered  up  possession,  and  quitted  Percy- 
hall,  in  consideration  of  the  extensive  improvements 
which  he  had  made,  and  in  consideration  of  his  giving 
up  to  Sir  Robert,  plate,  furniture,  wine,  horses,  and 
equipages,  Sir  Robert  had  promised  to  forego  whatever 
claim  he  might  have  upon  Mr.  Percy  for  the  rents  which 
he  had  received  during  the  time  he  had  held  the  estate ; 
but,  afterward,  Sir  Robert  repented  of  having  made  this 
agreement,  broke  his  promise,  and  took  out  a  writ  against 
VOL.  XVI.— E 


98  PATRONAGE. 

his  cousin  for  the  mesne  rents.  They  amounted  to  an 
immense  sum,  which  Mr.  Percy  was  utterly  unable  to 
pay,  and  he  could  have  had  no  hope  of  avoiding  ruin  had 
the  claim  been  by  law  decided  against  him.  By  for- 
tunate circumstances,  however,  he  had,  while  this  cause 
was  pending,  recovered  that  lost  conveyance,  which 
proved  his  right  to  the  Hampshire  estate.  Of  this  he 
had  apprized  Sir  Robert,  who  had  persisted,  neverthe- 
less, in  holding  possession,  and  in  his  claim  for  the  mesne 
rents.  The  present  action  was  brought  by  Mr.  Percy  in 
resistance  of  this  unjust  claim,  and  for  the  recovery  of 
his  property." 

Not  one  word  of  invective,  of  eloquence,  of  ornament, 
or  of  any  attempt  at  pathos,  did  our  barrister  mix  with 
this  statement.  It  was  his  object  to  put  the  jury  and 
the  court  clearly  in  possession  of  facts,  which,  unadorned, 
he  knew  would  appear  stronger  than  if  encumbered  by 
any  flowers  of  oratory. 

Having  produced  the  deed,  conveying  the  Hampshire 
estate  to  his  father,  Alfred  called  evidence  to  prove  the 
signature  of  Sir  John  Percy  and  the  handwriting  of  the 
witnesses.  He  further  proved  that  this  conveyance  had 
been  formerly  seen  among  his  father's  papers  at  Percy- 
hall,  showed  it  had  been  recently  recovered  from  Mr. 
Falconer's  box  of  papers,  and  explained  how  it  had  been 
put  there  by  mistake ;  and  he  supported  this  fact  by  the 
evidence  of  Commissioner  Falconer,  father-in-law  to  the 
defendant.  Alfred  rested  his  cause  on  these  proofs,  and 
waited,  anxious  to  know  what  defence  the  defendant 
was  prepared  to  make. 

To  his  astonishment  and  consternation,  Sir  Robert's 
counsel  produced  another  deed  of  Sir  John  Percy's,  re- 
voking the  deed  by  which  Sir  John  had  made  over  his 
Hampshire  estate  to  his  younger  grandson,  Mr.  Percy ; 
it  appearing  by  a  clause  in  the  original  deed  that  a  power 
for  this  purpose  had  been  therein  reserved.  This  deed 
of  revocation  was  handed  to  the  judge  and  to  the  jury, 
that  it  might  be  examined.  The  two  deeds  were  care- 
fully compared.  The  nicest  inspection  could  not  dis- 
cover any  difference  in  the  signature  or  seal.  When 
Mr.  Friend  examined  them,  he  was  in  dismay.  The  in- 
strument appeared  perfect.  While  the  jury  were  occu- 
pied in  this  examination,  Mr.  Friend  and  Alfred  had  a 
moment  to  consult  together. 


PATRONAGE.  99 

t;  We  are  undone,"  whispered  Mr.  Friend,  "  if  they 
establish  this  deed  of  revocation — it  sets  us  aside  for 
ever." 

Neither  Mr.  Friend  nor  Alfred  had  any  doubt  of  its 
being  a  forgery,  but  those  who  had  plunged  thus  despe- 
rately into  guilt  would  probably  be  provided  with  perjury 
sufficient  to  support  their  iniquity. 

"  If  we  had  been  prepared  !"  said  Mr.  Friend;  "  but 
how  could  we  be  prepared  for  such  a  stroke  ?  Even 
now,  if  we  had  time,  we  could  summon  witnesses  who 
would  discredit  theirs,  but — " 

"  Do  not  despair,"  said  Alfred :  "  still  we  have  a  chance 
that  their  own  witnesses  may  cross  each  other,  or  con- 
tradict themselves.  Falsehood,  with  all  its  caution,  is 
seldom  consistent." 

The  trial  proceeded.  Alfred,  in  the  midst  of  the  fears 
and  sighs  of  his  friends,  and  of  the  triumphant  smiles 
and  anticipating  congratulations  of  his  enemies,  con- 
tinued to  keep  both  his  temper  and  his  understanding 
cool.  His  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  evidence  pro- 
duced, regardless  of  the  various  suggestions  whispered 
or  written  to  him  by  ignorant  or  learned  advisers. 

William  Clerke,  the  only  surviving  witness  to  the 
deed  of  revocation  produced  by  Sir  Robert,  was  the  per- 
son on  whose  evidence  the  cause  principally  rested. 
He  was  now  summoned  to  appear,  and  room  was 
made  for  him.  He  was  upwards  of  eighty  years  of 
age :  he  came  slowly  into  court,  and  stood  supporting 
himself  upon  his  staff,  his  head  covered  with  thin 
gray  hairs,  his  countenance  placid  and  smiling,  and 
his  whole  appearance  so  respectable,  so  venerable,  as 
to  prepossess  immediately  the  jury  and  the  court  in  his 
favour. 

Alfred  Percy  could  scarcely  believe  it  possible  that 
such  a  man  as  this  could  be  the  person  suborned  to 
support  a  forgery.  After  being  sworn,  he  was  desired 
to  sit  down,  which  he  did,  bowing  respectfully  to  the 
court.  Sir  Robert  Percy's  counsel  proceeded  to  ex- 
amine him  as  to  the  points  they  desired  to  establish. 

"  Your  name,  sir,  is  William  Clerke,  is  it  not  T" 

"  My  name  is  William  Clerke,"  answered  the  old  man, 
in  a  feeble  voice. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  this  paper  before  ?"  showing  him 
the  deed. 

"  I  did — I  was  present  when  Sir  John  Percy  signed  it 
E2 


100  PATRONAGE. 

— he  bade  me  witness  it,  that  is,  write  my  name  at  the 
bottom,  which  I  did,  and  then  he  said,  'Take  notice, 
William  Clerke,  this  is  a  deed,  revoking  the  deed  by 
which  I  made  over  my  Hampshire  estate  to  my  youngest 
grandson,  Lewis  Percy.' " 

The  witness  was  going  on,  but  the  counsel  inter- 
rupted. 

"  You  saw  Sir  John  Percy  sign  this  deed — you  are 
sure  of  that  V 

"  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Is  this  Sir  John  Percy's  signature  T" 

"  It  is — the  very  same  I  saw  him  write  ;  and  here  is 
my  own  name,  that  he  bade  me  put  just  there." 

"  You  can  swear  that  this  is  your  handwriting !" 

"  1  can— I  do." 

"  Do  you  recollect  at  what  time  Sir  John  Percy  signed 
this  deed  V 

"  Yes  ;  about  three  or  four  days  before  his  death." 

"  Very  well,  that  is  all  we  want  of  you,  Mr.  Clerke." 

Alfred  Percy  desired  that  Clerke  should  be  detained 
in  court,  that  he  might  cross-examine  him.  The  de- 
fendants went  on,  produced  their  evidence,  examined 
all  their  witnesses,  and  established  all  they  desired. 

Then  it  came  to  Alfred's  turn  to  cross-examine  the 
witnesses  that  had  been  produced  by  his  adversary. 
When  William  Clerke  reappeared,  Alfred  regarding 
him  steadfastly,  the  old  man's  countenance  changed  a 
little ;  but  still  he  looked  prepared  to  stand  a  cross- 
examination.  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  however,  he 
trembled. 

"  OhJ  you  are  trembling  on  the  brink  of  the  grave  !" 
said  Alfred,  addressing  him  in  a  low,  solemn  tone : 
"  pause,  and  reflect,  while  you  are  allowed  a  moment's 
time.  A  few  years  must  b^  all  you  have  to  spend  in 
this  world.  A  few  moments  may  take  you  to  another, 
to  appear  before  a  higher  tribunal — before  that  Judge 
who  knows  our  hearts,  who  sees  into  yours  at  this  in- 
stant." 

The  staff  in  the  old  man's  hand  shook  violently. 

Sir  Robert  Percy's  counsel  interrupted — said  that  the 
witness  should  not  be  intimidated,  and  appealed  to  the 
court. 

The  judge  was  -silent,  and  Alfred  proceeded,  "  You 
know  that  you  are  upon  your  oath — these  are  possibly 
the  last  words  you  may  ever  utter — look  that  they  be 


PATRONAGE.  101 

true.     You  know  that  men  have  been  struck  dead  while 
uttering  falsehoods.     You  are  upon  your  oath — did  you 
see  Sir  John  Percy  sign  this  deed  ]" 
The  old  man  attempted  in  vain  to  articulate. 
"  Give  him  time  to  recollect,"  cried  the  counsel  on 
the  opposite  side :  "  give  him  leave  to  see  the  writing, 
now  he  has  his  spectacles." 

He  looked  at  the  writing  twice — his  head  and  hands 
shaking  so  that  he  could  not  fix  his  spectacles.  The 
question  was  repeated  by  the  judge.  The  old  man 
grew  pale  as  death.  Sir  Robert  Percy,  just  opposite 
to  him,  cleared  his  throat  to  catch  the  witness's  at- 
tention, then  darted  at  him  such  a  look  as  only  he  could 
give. 

"  Did  I  see  Sir  John  Percy  sign  this  deed  ]"  repeated 
William  Clerke  :  "  yes,  I  did." 

"  You  hear,  my  lord,  you  hear,"  cried  Sir  Robert's 
counsel,  "  the  witness  says  he  did;  there  is  no  occasion 
further  to  intimidate  this  poor  old  man.  He  is  not  used 
to  speak  before  such  an  audience.  There  is  no  need 
of  eloquence — all  we  want  is  truth.  The  evidence  is 
positive.  My  lord,  with  your  lordship's  leave,  I  fancy 
we  may  dismiss  him." 

They  were  going  to  hurry  him  away,  but  Alfred  Percy 
said  that,  with  the  permission  of  the  court,  he  must 
cross-examine  that  witness  further,  as  the  whole  event 
of  the  trial  depended  upon  the  degree  of  credit  that 
might  be  given  to  his  evidence. 

By  this  time  the  old  man  had  somewhat  recovered 
himself;  he  saw  that  his  age  and  reverend  appearance 
still  prepossessed  the  jury  in  his  favour ;  and  from  their 
looks,  and  from  the  whispers  near  him,  he  learned  that 
his  tremor  and  hesitation  had  not  created  any  suspicion 
of  guilt,  but  had  been  attributed  rather  to  the  sensibility 
of  virtue  and  the  weakness  of  age.  And  now  that  the 
momentary  emotion  which  eloquence  had  produced  on 
his  mind  had  subsided,  he  recollected  the  bribe  that  had 
been  promised  to  him.  He  was  aware  that  he  had 
already  sworn  what,  if  he  contradicted,  might  subject 
him  to  be  prosecuted  for  perjury.  He  now  stood  ob- 
stinately resolved  to  persevere  in  his  iniquity.  The 
first  falsehoods  pronounced  and  believed,  the  next  would 
be  easy. 

"Your  name  is  William  Clerke,  and  this,"  said  Alfred 


102  PATRONAG*. 

(pointing  to  the  witness's  signature),  "is  your  hand- 
writing ?" 

"  Yes,  I  say  it  is." 

"  You  can  write,  then  ?"  (putting  a  pen  into  his  hand :) 
"be  so  good  as  to  write  a  Jew  words  in  the  presence 
of  the  court."  He  took  the  pen,  but  after  making  some 
fruitless  attempts,  replied,  "  I  am  too  old  to  write ;  I 
have  not  been  able  to  write  my  name  these  many  years. 
Indeed,  sir  !  indeed !  you  are  too  hard  upon  one  like  me. 
God  knows,"  said  he,  looking  up  to  heaven,  some 
thought  with  feeling,  some  suspected  with  hypocrisy — 
"  God  knows,  sir,  I  speak  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth.  Have  you  any  more  questions  to  put  to  me  1  I 
am  ready  to  tell  all  I  know.  What  interest  have  I  to 
conceal  any  thing?"  continued  he,  his  voice  gaining 
strength  and  confidence  as  he  went  oa  repeating  the 
lesson  which  he  had  been  taught. 

"  It  was  long,  a  long  while  ago,"  he-  said,  "  since  it 
had  all  happened  ;  but,  thank  Heaven,  his  memory  had 
been  spared  him,  and  he  remembered  all  that  had  passed, 
the  same  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday.  He  recollected 
how  Sir  John  looked,  where  he  sat,  what  he  said  when 
he  signed  this  deed  ;  and,  moreover,  he  had  often  before 
heard  of  a  dislike  Sir  John  had  taken  to  his  younger 
grandson — ay,  to  that  young  gentleman's  father,"  look- 
ing at  Alfred  ;  "  and  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  it — very 
sorry  there  should  be  any  dispute  in  the  family,  for  I 
loved  them  all,"  said  he,  wiping  his  eyes ;  "  ay,  I  loved 
'em  all,  and  all  alike,  from  the  time  they  were  in  their 
cradles.  I  remember,  too,  once,  Sir  John  said  to  me, 
William  Clerke,  says  he,  you  are  a  faithful  lad — for  I 
was  a  lad  once — " 

Alfred  had  judiciously  allowed  the  witness  to  go  on 
as  far  as  he  pleased  with  his  story,  in  the  expectation 
that  some  exaggeration  and  contradiction  would  appear ; 
but  the  judge  now  interrupted  the  old  man,  observing 
that  this  was  nothing  to  the  purpose — that  he  must  not 
take  up  the  time  of  the  court  with  idle  tales ;  but  that 
if  he  had  any  thing  more  to  give  in  evidence  respecting 
the  deed,  he  should  relate  it. 

The  judge  was  thought  to  be  severe ;  and  the  old 
man,  after  glancing  his  eye  on  the  jury,  bowed  with  an 
air  of  resignation,  and  an  appearance  of  difficulty! 
excited  their  compassion. 


PATRONAGE.  103 

"  We  may  let  him  go  now,  my  lord,  may  not  we  1" 
said  Sir  Robert  Percy's  counsel. 

"  With  the  permission  of  his  lordship,  I  will  ask  one 
other  question,"  said  Alfred. 

Now  it  should  be  observed,  that  after  the  first  ex- 
amination of  this  witness,  Alfred  had  heard  him  say  to 
Mr.  Sharpe,  "  They  forgot  to  bring  out  what  I  had  to 
say  about  the  seal."  To  which  Sharpe  had  replied, 
"Enough  without  it." 

Alfred  had  examined  the  seal,  and  had  observed  that 
there  was  something  underneath  it ;  through  a  small 
hole  in  the  parchment  he  saw  something  between  the 
parchment  arid  the  sealing-wax. 

"  You  were  present,  I  think  you  say,  Mr.  Clerke, 
not  only  when  this  deed  was  signed,  but  when  it  was 
sealed  ?" 

"  I  was,  sir,"  cried  Clerke,  eager  to  bring  out  this  part 
of  the  evidence,  as  it  had  been  prepared  for  him  by  Sir 
Robert ;  "  I  surely  was  ;  and  I  remember  it  particularly, 
because  of  a  little  remarkable  circumstance  :  Sir  John, 
God  bless  him  !  I  think  I  see  him  now.  My  lord,  under 
this  seal,"  continued  the  old  man,  addressing  himself  to 
the  judge,  and  putting  his  shrivelled  finger  upon  the 
seal,  "  under  this  very  seal  Sir  John  put  a  sixpence — 
and  he  called  upon  me  to  observe  him  doing  it ;  for,  my 
lord,  it  is  my  opinion  he  thought  then  of  what  might 
come  to  pass — he  had  a  sort  of  a  foreboding  of  this  day. 
And  now,  my  lord,  order  them,  if  you  please,  to  break 
the  seal — break  it  before  them  all ;  and  if  there  is  not 
the  sixpence  under  it,  why  this  deed  is  not  Sir  John's,  and 
this  is  none  of  my  writing,  and,"  cried  he,  lifting  up  his 
hands  and  eyes,  "  I  am  a  liar,  and  perjured." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  The  seal  was  broken. 
The  sixpence  appeared.  It  was  handed  in  triumph,  by 
Sir  Robert  Percy's  counsel,  to  the  jury  and  to  the  judge. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  longer  a  doubt  remaining  in  the 
minds  of  the  jury — and  a  murmur  of  congratulations 
among  the  partisans  of  Sir  Robert  seemed  to  anticipate 
the  verdi^*- 

"  'Tis  all  over,  I  fear,"  whispered  Friend  to  Alfred. 
"  Alfred,  you  have  done  all  that  could  be  done,  but  they 
have  sworn  through  every  thing ;  it  is  over  with  us." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Alfred.  Every  eye  turned  upon  him 
—some  from  pity,  some  from  curiosity,  to  see  how  he 
bore  his  defeat.  At  length,  when  there  was  silence,  he 


104  PATRONAGE. 

begged  to  be  permitted  to  look  at  the  sixpence.  The 
judge  ordered  that  it  should  be  shown  to  him.  He 
held  it  to  the  light,  to  examine  the  date  of  the  coin ;  he 
discovered  a  faint  impression  of  a  head  on  the  sixpence, 
and  upon  closer  inspection  he  made  out  the  date,  and 
showed  clearly  that  the  date  of  the  coin  was  later  than 
the  date  of  the  deed  ;  so  that  there  was  an  absolute  im- 
possibility that  this  sixpence  could  have  been  put  under 
the  seal  of  the  deed  by  Sir  John. 

The  moment  Alfred  stated  this  fact,  the  counsel  on 
the  opposite  side  took  the  sixpence,  examined  it,  threw 
down  his  brief,  and  left  the  court.  People  looked  at 
each  other  in  astonishment.  The  judge  ordered  that 
William  Clerke  should  be  detained,  that  he  might  be 
prosecuted  by  the  crown  for  perjury. 

The  old  man  fell  back  senseless.  Mr.  Sharpe  and  Sir 
Robert  Percy  pushed  their  way  together  out  of  court, 
disclaimed  by  all  who  had  till  now  appeared  as  their 
friends.  No  further  evidence  was  offered,  so  that  here 
the  trial  closed.  The  judge  gave  a  short  impressive 
charge  to  the  jury,  who,  without  withdrawing,  instantly 
gave  their  verdict  in  favour  of  the  plaintiff,  Lewis  Percy 
— a  verdict  that  was  received  with  loud  acclamations, 
which  not  even  respect  to  the  court  could  restrain. 

Mr.  Percy  and  Alfred  hastily  shook  hands  with  their 
friends,  and  in  the  midst  of  universal  applause  hurried 
away  to  carry  the  good  news  to  Mrs.  Percy  and  Rosa- 
mond, who  were  at  Alfred's  house,  waiting  to  hear  the 
event  of  the  trial. 

Neither  Alfred  nor  Mr.  Percy  had  occasion  to  speak ; 
the  moment  Mrs.  Percy  and  Rosamond  saw  them  they 
knew  the  event. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  "  our  fortune  is  restored ; 
and  doubly  happy  we  are  in  having  regained  it,  in  a 
great  measure,  by  the  presence  of  mind  and  ability  of 
my  son." 

His  mother  and  sister  embraced  Alfred  with  tears 
of  delight.  For  some  moments  a  spectator  might  have 
imagined  that  he  beheld  a  family  in  deep  affliction.  But 
soon  through  these  tears  appeared  on  the  countenance  of 
each  individual  the  radiance  of  joy,  smiles  of  affection, 
tenderness,  gratitude,  and  every  delightful  benignant 
feeling  of  the  human  heart. 

"  Has  anybody  sent  to  Mrs.  Hungerford  and  to  Lady 
Jane  Granville  V  said  Mr.  Percy. 


PATRONAGE.  105 

"Yes,  yes,  messengers  were  sent  off  the  moment 
the  verdict  was  given,"  said  Erasmus :  "  I  took  care 
of  that." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Rosamond,  "  that  Caroline  is  not 
here  at  this  moment,  and  Godfrey." 

"  It  is  best  as  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Percy  ;  "  we  have  that 
pleasure  still  in  store." 

"  And  now,  my  beloved  children,"  said  Mr.  Percy, 
"  after  having  returned  thanks  to  Providence,  let  me 
here,  in  the  midst  of  all  of  you,  to  whom  I  owe  so  large 
a  share  of  my  happiness,  sit  down  quietly  for  a  few 
minutes  to  enjoy  '  the  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss  '  " 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  day  after  the  trial  brought  several  happy  letters 
to  the  Percys.  Rosamond  called  it  the  day  of  happy 
letters,  and  by  that  name  it  was  ever  after  recorded  in 
the  family.  The  first  of  these  letters  was  from  God- 
frey, as  follows : — 

"  Dear  father,  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters  all ! — T 
hope  you  are  not  under  any  anxiety  about  me,  for  here 
I  am,  safe  and  sound,  and  in  excellent  quarters,  at  the 
house  of  Mynheers  Grinderweld,  Groensveld,  and  Slid- 
derschild,  Amsterdam,  the  Dutch  merchants  who  were 
shipwrecked  on  our  coast  years  ago !  If  it  had  hap- 
pened yesterday,  the  thing  could  not  be  fresher  in  their 
memories.  My  dear  Rosamond,  when  we  laughed  at 
their  strange  names,  square  figures,  and  formal  advice 
to  us,  if  ever  we  should,  by  the  changes  and  chances 
of  human  events,  be  reduced  to  distress,  we  little 
thought  that  I,  a  prisoner,  should  literally  come  to  seek 
shelter  at  their  door.  And  most  hospitably  have  I  been- 
received.  National  prejudices,  which  I  early  acquired, 
I  don't  know  how,  against  the  Dutch,  made  me  fancy 
that  a  Dutchman  could  think  only  of  himself,  and  would 
give  nothing  for  nothing :  I  can  only  say  from  expe- 
rience, I  have  been  as  hospitably  treated  in  Amsterdam 
as  ever  I  was  in  London.  These  honest  merchants 
have  overwhelmed  me  with  civilities  and  substantial 
E3 


106  PATRONAGE. 

services,  and  still  they  seem  to  think  they  can  never  do 
enough  for  me.  I  wish  I  may  ever  see  them  on  English 
ground  again.  But  we  have  no  Percy-hall  to  receive 
them  in  now;  and  as  well  as  I  remember  the  Hills,  we 
could  not  conveniently  stow  more  than  one  at  a  time. 
Side  by  side,  as  they  stood  after  breakfast,  I  recollect, 
at  Percy-hall,  they  would  completely  fill  up  the  parlour 
at  the  Hills. 

"  I  may  well  be  in  high  spirits  to-day ;  for  these  good 
people  have  just  been  telling  me  that  the  measures  they 
have  been  taking  to  get  my  exchange  effected  have  so 
far  succeeded,  they  have  reason  to  believe  that  in  a 
week,  or  a  fortnight  at  farthest,  I  shall  be  under  way 
for  England. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  you  will  wonder  perhaps  how  I 
got  here ;  for  I  perceive  that  I  have  subjected  myself  to 
Rosamond's  old  reproach  of  never  beginning  my  story 
at  the  beginning.  My  father  used  to  say,  half  the  mis- 
takes in  human  affairs  arise  from  our  taking  for  granted ; 
'but  I  think  I  may  take  it  for  granted  that  either  from 
the  newspapers  or  from  Gascoigne,  who  must  be  in 
England  by  this  time,  you  have  learned  that  the  trans" 
port  I  was  on  board,  with  my  division  of  the  regiment, 
parted  convoy  in  the  storm  of  the  18th,  in  the  night,  and 
at  daybreak  fell  in  with  two  Dutchmen.  Our  brave 
boys  fought  as  Englishmen  always  do ;  but  all  that  is 
over  now,  so  it  does  not  signify  prosing  about  it.  Two 
to  one  was  too  much — we  were  captured.  I  had  not 
been  five  minutes  on  the  Dutchman's  deck,  when  I  ob- 
served one  of  the  sailors  eying  me  very  attentively. 
Presently  he  came  up  and  asked  if  my  name  was 
not  Percy,  and  if  I  did  not  recollect  to  have  seen  him 
before  1  He  put  me  in  mind  of  the  shipwreck,  and  told 
me  he  was  one  of  the  sailors  who  were  harboured  in 
one  of  my  father's  outhouses  while  they  were  repair- 
ing the  wreck.  I  asked  him  what  had  become  of  the 
drunken  carpenter,  and  told  him  the  disaster  that  ensued 
in  consequence  of  that  rascal's  carelessness.  My  sailor 
was  excessively  shocked  at  the  account  of  the  fire  at 
Percy-hall :  he  thumped  his  breast  till  I  thought  he 
would  have  broken  his  breast-bone  ;  and  after  relieving 
his  mind  by  cursing  and  swearing  in  High  Dutch,  Low 
Dutch,  and  English,  against  the  drunken  carpenter,  he 
told  me  there  was  no  use  in  saying  any  more,  for  that 
he  had  punished  himself.  He  was  found  dead  one 


PATRONAGE.  107 

morning  behind  a  barrel,  from  which  in  the  night  he 
had  been  drinking  spirits  surreptitiously  through  a  straw. 
Pray  tell  this  to  old  John,  who  used  always  to  prophesy 
that  this  fellow  would  come  to  no  good :  assure  him, 
however,  at  the  same  time,  that  all  the  Dutch  sailors  do 
not  deserve  his  maledictions.  Tell  him  I  can  answer 
for  the  poor  fellow  who  recognised  me,  and  who,  during 
the  whole  passage,  never  failed  to  show  me  and  my 
fellow-prisoners  every  little  attention  in  his  power. 
When  we  got  to  Amsterdam,  it  was  he  reminded  me 
of  the  Dutch  merchants,  told  me  their  names,  which, 
without  his  assistance,  I  might  have  perished  before  I 
could  ever  have  recollected — and  showed  me  the  way 
to  their  house,  and  never  rested  till  he  saw  me  well 
settled. 

"  You  will  expect  from  me  some  account  of  this 
place.  You  need  not  expect  any,  for  just  as  I  had  got 
to  this  line  in  my  letter  appeared  one  who  has  put  all 
the  lions  of  Amsterdam  fairly  out  of  my  head — Mr. 
Gresham !  He  has  been  for  some  weeks  in  the  country, 
and  has  just  returned.  The  Dutch  merchants,  not 
knowing  of  his  being  acquainted  with  my  family,  never 
mentioned  him  to  me,  nor  me  to  him :  so  our  surprise 
at  meeting  was  great.  What  pleasure  it  is  in  a  foreign 
country,  and  to  a  poor  prisoner,  to  see  any  one  from 
dear  England,  and  one  who  knows  our  own  friends!  I 
had  never  seen  Mr.  Gresham  myself,  but  you  have  all 
by  your  letters  made  me  well  acquainted  with  him.  I 
like  him  prodigiously,  to  use  a  lady's  word  (not  yours, 
Rosamond).  Letters  from  Mr.  Henry  were  waiting  for 
him  here  ;  he  has  just  opened  them,  and  the  first  news 
he  tells  me  is,  that  Caroline  is  going  to  be  married  !  Is 
it  possible  1  Count  Altenberg  !  The  last  time  I  heard 
from  you,  you  mentioned  nothing  of  all  this.  Some  of 
your  letters  must  have  been  lost.  Pray  write  again 
immediately,  and  do  not  take  it  for  granted  that  I  shall 
be  at  home  before  a  letter  reaches  me  ;  but  give  me  a 
full  history  of  every  thing  up  to  the  present  moment. 
Groensveld  is  sealing  his  letters  for  London,  and  must 
have  mine  now  or  never.  Adieu!  Pray  write -fully; 
you  cannot  be  too  minute  for  a  poor  prisoner. 
"Yours  affectionately, 

"  burning  with  curiosity, 

"  GODFREY  PEROT."' 


108  PATRONAGE. 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Gresham  to  Mr.  Henry  further 
informed  them,  that  Godfrey's  exchange  was  actually 
effected,  and  that  he  had  secured  his  passage  on  board 
a  vessel  just  ready  to  sail  for  England. 

Next  came  letters  from  Count  Altenberg.  Briefly, 
in  the  laconic  style  of  a  man  pressed  at  once  by  sudden 
events  and  strong  feelings,  he  related  that  at  the  siege 
of  the  city  of  *****  by  the  French,  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  day  on  which  it  was  expected  that  the 
enemy  would  attempt  to  storm  the  place,  his  prince, 
while  inspecting  the  fortifications,  was  killed  by  a  can- 
non-ball, on  the  very  spot  where  the  count  had  been 
standing  but  a  moment  before.  All  public  affairs  were 
changed  in  his  country  by  the  death  of  the  prince. 
His  successor,  of  a  weak  character,  was  willing  to 
purchase  present  ease,  and  to  secure  his  low  pleasures, 
at  any  price — ready  to  give  up  the  honour  of  his  country, 
and  submit  to  the  conqueror — that  he  had  been  secretly 
intriguing  with  the  enemy,  had  been  suspected,  and  this 
suspicion  was  confirmed  by  his  dastardly  capitulation 
when  the  means  of  defence  were  in  his  power  and  the 
spirit  of  his  people  eager  for  resistance. 

With  indignation,  heightened  by  grief,  contrast,  and 
despairing  patriotism,  Count  Altenberg  had  remon- 
strated in  vain — had  refused,  as  minister,  to  put  his  sig- 
nature to  the  capitulation — had  been  solicited  urgently 
to  concede — offers  of  wealth  and  dignities  pressed  upon 
him :  these  he  rejected  with  scorn.  Released  from  all 
his  public  engagements  by  the  death  of  the  prince,  and 
by  the  retiring  of  the  princess  from  court,  Count  Alten- 
berg refused  to  act  as  minister  under  his  successor; 
and  seeing  that,  under  such  a  successor  to  the  govern- 
ment, no  means  of  serving  or  saving  the  country 
remained,  he  at  once  determined  to  quit  it  for  ever : 
resolved  to  live  in  a  free  country,  already  his  own,  half 
by  birth  and  wholly  by  inclination,  where  he  had  prop- 
erty sufficient  to  secure  him  independence,  sufficient 
for  his  own  wishes,  and  for  those  of  his  beloved  Caroline 
— a  country  where  he  could  enjoy  better  than  on  any 
other  spot  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  civilized  world 
the  blessings  of  real  liberty  and  of  domestic  tranquillity 
and  happiness. 

His  decision  made,  it  was  promptly  executed.  He 
left  to  a  friend  the  transacting  the  sale  of  his  German 
property,  and  Caroline  concluded  his  letter  with — 


PATRONAGE.  109 

"Mr  DEAR  FRIENDS, 

"Passports  are  obtained,  every  thing  ready.  Early 
next  week  we  set  out  for  England ;  by  the  first  of  next 
month  we  shall  be  at  HOME." 

Then  came  a  letter  from  Lord  Oldborough.  Some 
time  previous  to  the  trial,  surprised  at  neither  seeing 
Mr.  Temple  nor  hearing  of  his  marriage,  his  lordship 
had  written  to  inquire  what  delayed  his  promised  return. 
Taking  it  for  granted  that  he  was  married,  his  lordship 
in  the  most  polite  manner  begged  that  he  would  prevail 
upon  his  bride  to  enliven  the  retirement  of  an  old  states- 
man by  her  sprightly  company.  As  the  friend  of  her 
father  he  made  this  request,  with  a  confidence  in  her 
hereditary  disposition  to  show  him  kindness. 

In  reply  to  this  letter,  Mr.  Temple  told  his  friend  and 
master  what  had  delayed  his  marriage,  and  why  he  had 
hitherto  forborne  to  trouble  him  on  the  subject.  Lord 
Oldborough,  astonished  and  indignant,  uttered  once,  and 
but  once,  contemptuous  exclamations  against  the  "  incon- 
ceivable meanness  of  Lord  Skrimpshire,"  and  the  "  in- 
finitely small  mind  of  his  grace  of  Greenwich ;"  then, 
without  condescending  to  any  communication  with 
inferior  powers,  his  lordship  applied  directly  to  the 
highest  authority.  The  consequence  was,  that  a  place 
double  the  value  of  that  which  had  been  promised  was 
given  to  Mr.  Temple,  and  it  was  to  announce  his  appoint- 
ment to  it  that  occasioned  the  present  letter  from  Lord 
Oldborough,  enclosing  one  from  Mr.  Secretary  Cope, 
who  "  had  it  in  command  to  assure  his  lordship  that 
the  delay  had  arisen  solely  from  the  anxious  desire  of 
his  majesty's  ministers  to  mark  their  respect  for  his 
lordship's  recommendation,  and  their  sense  of  Mr.  Tem- 
ple's merit,  by  doing  more  than  had  been  originally 
proposed.  An  opportunity,  for  which  they  had  impa- 
tiently waited,  had  now  put  it  into  their  power  to  evince 
the  sincerity  of  their  intentions  in  a  mode  which  they 
trusted  would  prove  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  his 
lordship." 

The  greatest  care  was  taken  both  in  substance  and 
manner  to  gratify  Lord  Oldborough,  whose  loss  had 
been  felt,  and  whose  value  had,  upon  comparison, 
increased  in  estimation. 

Rosamond  was  rewarded  by  seeing  the  happiness  of 


110  PATRONAGE. 

the  man  she  loved,  and  hearing  him  declare  that  he 
owed  it  to  her  prudence. 

"  Rosamond's  prudence ! — Who  ever  expected  to  hear 
this  V  Mr.  Percy  exclaimed.  "  And  yet  the  praise  is 
just.  So,  henceforward,  none  need  ever  despair  of 
grafting  prudence  upon  generosity  of  disposition  and 
vivacity  of  temper." 

Mr.  Temple  obtained  from  Rosamond  a  promise  to 
be  his  as  soon  as  her  sister  Caroline  and  her  brother 
should  arrive. 

Lady  Jane  Granville,  who  felt  the  warmest  interest 
in  their  prosperity,  was  the  first  to  whom  they  com- 
municated all  this  joyful  intelligence.  Her  ladyship's 
horses  had  indeed  reason  to  rue  this  day ;  for  they  did 
more  work  this  day  than  London  horses  ever  accom- 
plished before  in  the  same  number  of  hours,  not  except- 
ing even  those  of  the  merciless  Mrs.  John  Prevost ;  for 
Lady  Jane  found  it  necessary  to  drive  about  to  her 
thousand  acquaintance,  to  spread  the  news  of  the  triumph 
and  felicity  of  the  Percy  family. 

In  the  midst  of  this  tumult  of  joy,  Mr.  Percy  wrote 
two  letters :  one  was  to  his  faithful  old  steward,  John 
Nelson,  who  deserved  from  his  master  this  mark  of 
regard ;  the  other  was  to  Commissioner  Falconer,  to 
make  him  some  friendly  offers  of  assistance  in  his  own 
affairs,  and  to  beg  that,  through  him,  his  daughter,  the 
unhappy  and  deserted  lady  of  Sir  Robert  Percy,  might 
be  assured  that  neither  Mr.  Percy  nor  any  of  his  family 
wished  to  put  her  to  inconvenience ;  and  that  far  from 
being  in  haste  to  return  to  Percy-hall,  they  particularly 
wished  to  wait  in  town  for  the  arrival  of  Caroline  and 
Count  Altenberg ;  and  they  therefore  requested  that  she 
would  not  hasten  her  removal,  from  any  false  idea  of 
their  impatience.  We  said  the  deserted  lady  of  Sir 
Robert  Percy,  for  Sir  Robert  had  fled  from  the  country. 
On  quitting  the  court  after  the  trial,  he  took  all  the 
ready  money  he  had  previously  collected  from  his  ten- 
ants, and  set  out  for  the  Continent,  leaving  a  note  for 
his  wife,  apprizing  her  "  that  she  would  never  see  him 
more,  and  that  she  had  better  return  to  her  father  and 
mother,  as  he  had  no  means  left  to  support  her  extrava- 
gance." 

Commissioner  Falconer  was  at  this  time  at  Falconer- 
court,  where  he  had  been  obliged  to  go  to  settle  some 


PATRONAGE.  1 H 

business  with  his  tenantry,  previous  to  the  sale  of  his 
land  for  the  redemption  of  Cunningham.  The  commis- 
sioner's answer  to  Mr.  Percy's  letter  was  as  follows: — 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,  how  much  I  was 
touched  by  the  kindness  of  your  letter  and  conduct — 
so  different  from  what  I  have  met  with  from  others.  I 
will  not  cloud  your  happiness — in  which,  believe  me,  I 
heartily  rejoice — by  the  melancholy  detail  of  all  my 
own  sorrows  and  disappointments ;  but  only  answer 
briefly  to  your  friendly  inquiries  respecting  my  affairs. 

"  And,  first,  for  my  unfortunate  married  daughter,  who 
has  been  in  this  terrible  manner  returned  upon  our 
hands.  She  thanks  you  for  your  indulgence,  on  which 
she  will  not  encroach.  Before  you  receive  this  she 
will  have  left  Percy-hall.  She  is  going  to  live  with  a 
Miss  Clapham,  a  great  heiress,  who  wants  a  fashion- 
able companion  and  chaperon.  Mrs.  Falconer  became 
acquainted  with  her  at  Tunbridge,  and  has  devised  this 
plan  for  Arabella.  I  fear  Bell's  disposition  will  not  suit 
such  a  situation,  but  she  has  no  other  resource. 

"Mrs.  Falconer  and  Georgiana  have  so  overmanaged 
matters  with  respect  to  Petcalf,  that  it  has  ended,  as  I 
long  since  feared  it  would,  in  his  breaking  off.  If  Mrs. 
Falconer  had  taken  my  advice,  Georgiana  might  now 
be  completely  settled ;  instead  of  which  she  is  fitting 
out  for  India.  She  is  going,  to  be  sure,  in  good  com- 
pany ;  but  in  my  opinion  the  expense  (which,  Heaven 
knows,  I  can  ill  afford)  will  be  thrown  away  like  all  the 
rest — for  Georgiana  has  been  much  worn  by  late  hours, 
and  though  still  young,  has,  I  fear,  lost  her  bloom,  and 
looks  rather  old  for  India. 

"  I  am  truly  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  for  your 
friendly  offer  with  respect  to  Falconer-court,  and  have 
in  consequence  stopped  the  sale  of  the  furniture'.  I 
shall  rejoice  to  have  such  a  good  tenant  as  Mr.  Temple. 
It  is  indeed  much  more  agreeable  to  me  to  let  than  to 
sell.  The  accommodation,  as  you  propose,  will  put  it 
in  my  power  to  release  Cunningham,  which  is  my  most 
pressing  difficulty. 

"  As  you  are  the  only  person  in  the  world  now  who 
takes  an  interest  in  my  affairs,  or  to  whom  I  can  safely 
unburden  my  mind,  I  must,  though  I  know  complaint 
to  be  useless,  relieve  my  heart  by  it  for  a  moment.  I 
can  safely  say,  that  for  the  last  ten  years  of  my  life  I 


1 12  PATRONAGE. 

have  never  spent  a  day  for  myself.  L  have  been  continu- 
ally planning  and  toiling  to  advance  my  family, — not  an 
opportunity  has  been  neglected ;  and  yet  from  this  very 
family  springs  all  my  unhappiness.  Even  Mrs.  Falconer 
blames  me  as  the  cause  of  that  sad  business,  which  has 
disgraced  us  for  ever,  and  deprived  us  of  all  our  friends 
— and  has  afforded  an  excuse  for  breaking  all  promises. 
There  are  many,  whom  I  will  not  name,  but  they  are 
persons  now  high  in  office,  who  have — I  may  venture 
to  say  it  to  you — used  me  shamefully  ill. 

"  Many  an  honest  tradesman  and  manufacturer,  to  say 
nothing  of  men  of  talents  in  the  liberal  professions,  I 
have  seen  in  the  course  of  the  last  forty  years  make 
their  own  fortunes,  and  large  fortunes,  while  I  have 
ended  worse  than  I  began — have  literally  been  working 
all  my  life  for  others,  not  only  without  reward,  but  with- 
out thanks.  If  I  were  to  begin  life  again,  I  certainly 
should  follow  your  principles,  my  dear  sir,  and  depend 
more  upon  myself,  and  less  upon  others,  than  I  have 
done — but  now  all  is  over.  Let  me  assure  you,  that  in 
the  midst  of  my  own  misfortunes,  I  rejoice  in  your  pros- 
perity, and  in  the  esteem  and  respect  with  which  I  hear 
you  and  yours  spoken  of  by  all. 

"  Present  my  affectionate  regards  and  congratulations 
to  Mrs.  Percy,  and  to  all  your  amiable  and  happy  circle. 
Propriety  and  feeling  for  my  poor  daughter  Lady  Percy 
must  prevent  my  paying  at  present  my  personal  con- 
gratulations to  you  at  Percy-hall ;  but  I  trust  you  will 
Hot  the  less  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  my  attachment. 
"  I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

"  Your  obliged  and  faithful 
"  Friend  and  servant, 
"T.  FALCONER. 

"  P.S. — I  have  just  learned  that  the  little  place  I  men- 
tioned to  Mr.  Alfred  Percy,  when  we  last  met,  is  not 
disposed  of.  Lord  Oldborough's  influence,  as  Mr.  Tem- 
ple well  knows,  is  still  all-powerful ;  and  your  interest 
with  his  lordship,  you  must  be  sensible,  is  greater  than 
that  of  any  other  person  living,  without  exception.  A 
word  from  you  would  do  the  business  for  me.  It  is  but 
a  trifle,  which  I  should  once  have  been  ashamed  to  ask  • 
but  it  is  now  a  matter  of  necessity." 

The  event  of  the  trial,  and  the  restoration  of  the  Percy 


PATRONAGE  113 

family  to  their  property,  were  heard  with  transports  of 
joy  by  the  old  tenantry.  They  had  not  needed  the  effect 
of  contrast  to  make  them  love  and  feel  the  value  of  their 
good  landlord ;  but  certainly  Sir  Robert  Percy's  tyranny, 
and  all  that  he  had  made  them  suffer  for  their  obstinate 
fidelity  to  the  old  branch,  had  heightened  and  fortified 
their  attachment.  It  was  now  their  turn  to  glory  in 
that  honest  obstinacy,  and  with  the  strong  English 
sense  of  justice,  they  triumphed  in  having  the  rightful 
owners  restored  to  their  estate,  and  tp  the  seat  of  their 
ancestors. 

As  the  Percy  family  crossed  the  well-known  bridge 
at  the  end  of  the  village,  those  bells  which  had  sounded 
so  mournfully,  which  had  been  muffled  when  they  quitted 
their  home,  now  rang  out  a  merry  triumphant  peal — and 
it  was  rung  by  the  hands  of  the  very  same  persons  who 
had  formerly  given  that  proof  of  attachment  to  them  in 
their  adversity.  Emotionasstrongnow  seized  Mr.  Percy's 
heart.  At  the  same  spot  he  jumped  out  of  the  carriage, 
and  by  the  same  path  along  which  he  had  hastened  to 
stop  the  bell-ringers,  lest  they  should  ruin  themselves 
Avith  Sir  Robert,  he  now  hastened  to  see  and  thank  these 
honest,  courageous  people.  In  passing  through  the  vil- 
lage, which  had  been  freshly  swept  and  garnished,  the 
people  whom  he  remembered  to  have  seen  in  tears  fol- 
lowing the  carriage  at  their  departure  were  now  crowd- 
ing to  their  doors  with  faces  bright  with  smiles.  Hats 
that  had  never  stirred,  and  backs  that  had  never  bent,  for 
the  usurper,  were  now  eager  with  low  bows  to  mark 
their  proud  respect  to  the  true  man.  There  were  no 
noisy  acclamations,  for  all  were  touched.  The  voices 
of  the  young  children,  however,  were  heard,  who,  as 
their  mothers  held  them  up  in  their  arms,  to  see  the 
landlord,  of  whom  they  had  heard  so  much,  offered  their 
little  nosegays  as  the  open  carriage  passed,  and  repeated 
blessings  on  those  on  whom  from  their  cradles  they  had 
heard  blessings  bestowed  by  their  parents. 

The  old  steward  stood  ready  at  the  park-gate  to  open 
it  for  his  master.  His  master  and  the  ladies  put  their 
hands  out  of  the  carriage  to  shake  hands  with  him,  but 
he  could  not  stand  it.  He  just  touched  his  master's 
hand.  Tears  streamed  down  his  face,  and  turning  away 
without  being  able  to  say  one  word,  he  hid  himself  in 
the  porter's  lodge. 

As  they  drove  up  to  the  house,  they  saw  standing  on 


114  PATRONAGE. 

the  steps  waiting — and  long  had  he  been  waiting  there, 
for  the  first  sound  of  the  carriage — Johnson,  the  butler, 
who  had  followed  the  family  to  the  Hills,  and  had  served 
them  in  their  fallen  fortunes — Johnson  was  now  himself. 
Before  the  hall-door,  wide  open  to  receive  them,  he  stood, 
with  the  livery  servants  in  due  order. 

Mrs.  Harte,  the  good  old  housekeeper,  had  been  sent 
down  to  prepare  for  the  reception  of  the  family,  and  a 
world  of  trouble  she  had  had ;  but  all  was  now  right  and 
proper,  and  she  was  as  active  and  alert  as  the  youngest 
of  her  maidens  could  have  been,  in  conducting  the  ladies 
to  their  apartments,  in  showing  all  the  old  places,  and 
doing  what  she  called  the  honours  of  the  re-installation. 
She  could  have  wished  to  have  vented  a  little  of  her 
indignation,  and  to  have  told  how  some  things  had  been 
left ;  but  her  better  taste  and  judgment,  and  her  sense 
of  what  would  be  pleasing  to  her  master  and  mistress, 
repressed  all  recrimination.  By  the  help  of  frequent 
recurrence  to  her  snuff-box,  in  difficulties  great,  together 
with  much  rubbing  of  her  hands,  and  some  bridling  of 
her  head,  she  got  through  it,  without  naming  those  who 
should  not  be  thought  of,  as  she  observed,  on  this  joyful 
day. 

The  happiness  of  the  Percy  family  was  completed  by 
the  return  of  Godfrey,  of  Caroline,  and  Count  Altenberg. 
Godfrey  arrived  just,  as  his  family  were  settled  at  Percy- 
hall.  After  his  long  absence  from  his  home  and  country, 
he  doubly  enjoyed  this  scene  of  domestic  prosperity. 
Beloved  as  Rosamond  was  by  rich  and  poor  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  the  general  favourite  of  her  family, 
her  approaching  marriage  spread  new  and  universal  joy. 
It  is  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  congratulations, 
and  of  the  bustle  of  the  various  preparations,  which  were 
going  on  at  this  time  at  Percy-hall,  especially  in  the 
lower  regions.  Even  Mrs.  Harte's  all-regulating  genius 
was  insufficient  for  the  exigencies  of  the  times.  Indeed, 
her  head  and  her  heart  were  now  at  perpetual  variance, 
continually  counteracting  and  contradicting  each  other. 
One  moment  delighted  with  the  joy  and  affection  of  the 
world  below,  she  would  come  up  to  boast  of  if  to  her 
mistress  and  her  young  ladies ;  the  next  moment  she 
would  scold  all  the  people  for  being  out  of  their  wits, 
and  for  not  minding  or  knowing  a  single  thing  they  were 
doing,  or  ordered  to  do,  "  no  more  than  the  babes  in  the 
wood ;"  then  proving  the  next  minute  and  acknowledging 


PATRONAGE.  1 15 

that  she  was  "  really  quite  as  bad  as  themselves.  And  no 
wonder,  for  the  thoughts  of  Miss  Rosamond's  marriage 
had  turned  her  head  entirely  upside  down — for  she  had 
been  at  Miss  Rosamond's  christening,  held  her  by  proxy, 
and  considered  her  always  as  her  particular  own  child, 
and  well  she  might,  for  a  better,  except,  perhaps,  Miss 
Caroline — I  should  say  the  countess — never  breathed." 

The  making  a  desert  island  for  Miss  Rosamond's  wed- 
ding dinner  was  the  object  which  had  taken  such  forcible 
possession  of  Mrs.  Harte's  imagination,  that  till  it  was 
accomplished  it  was  in  vain  to  hope  that  any  other  could, 
in  her  eyes,  appear  in  any  kind  of  proportion.  In  the 
midst  of  all  the  sentimental  joy  above-stairs,  and  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  important  business  of  settlements  and 
lawyers,  Mrs.  Harte  was  pursuing  the  settled  purpose 
of  her  soul,  constructing  with  infinite  care,  as  directed 
by  her  Complete  English  Housekeeper,  a  desert  island 
for  a  wedding,  in  a  deep  china  dish,  with  a  mount  in  the 
middle,  two  figures  upon  the  mount,  with  crowns  on 
their  heads,  a  knot  of  rock-candy  at  their  feet,  and  gravel 
walks  of  shot  comfits,  judiciously  intersecting  in  every 
direction  their  dominions. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible,  after  his  return  to  Percy- 
hall,  Mr.  Percy  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  Lord  Old- 
borough.  He  found  this  great  statesman  happy  in  re- 
tirement, without  any  affectation  of  happiness.  There 
were  proofs  in  every  thing  about  him  that  his  mind  had 
unbent  itself  agreeably ;  his  powers  had  expanded  upon 
different  objects,  building,  planting,  improving  the  soil 
and  the  people. 

He  had  many  tastes,  which  had  long  lain  dormant,  or 
rather  which  had  been  held  in  subjugation  by  one  tyrant 
passion.  That  passion  vanquished,  the  former  tastes 
resumed  their  activity.  The  superior  strength  of  his 
character  was  shown  in  his  never  recurring  to  ambition. 
Its  vigour  was  displayed  in  the  means  by  which  he  sup- 
plied himself,  not  only  with  variety  of  occupation,  but 
with  variety  of  motive.  Those  who  best  know  the 


1 1 6  PATRONAGE. 

human  mind  must  be  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  supplying 
motive  for  one  accustomed  to  stimulus  of  so  high  a  kind 
as  that  to  which  Lord  Oldborough  had  been  habituated. 
For  one  who  had  been  at  the  head  of  the  government 
of  a  great  nation,  to  make  for  himself  objects  in  the 
stillness  and  privacy  of  a  country  life  required  no  com- 
mon talent  and  energy  of  soul.  The  difficulty  was  in- 
creased to  Lord  Oldborough,  for  to  him  the  vast  resource 
of  a  taste  for  literature  was  wanting. 

The  biographer  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  tells  us,  that 
though  he  had  not  forgotten  his  classical  attainments, 
he  had  little  taste  for  literary  occupations.  Sir  Robert 
once  expressed  his  regret  on  this  subject  to  Mr.  Fox,  in 
the  library  at  Houghton.  "  t  wish,"  he  said,  "  I  took  as 
much  delight  in  reading  as  you  do ;  it  would  be  the 
means  of  alleviating  many  tedious  hours  in  my  present 
retirement.  But,  to  my  misfortune,  I  derive  no  pleas- 
ure from  such  pursuits." 

Lord  Oldborough  felt,  but  never  condescended  to  com- 
plain of  tha|  deficiency  of  general  literature  which  was 
caused  in  him  partly  by  his  not  having  had  time  for  the 
attainment,  and  partly  by  his  having  formed  too  low  an 
estimate  of  the  influence  and  power  of  literature  in  the 
political  world.  But  he  now  took  peculiar  delight  in 
recalling  the  classical  studies  in  which  he  had  in  his 
youth  excelled :  as  Mr.  Percy  sympathized  with  him  in 
this  taste,  there  was  another  point  in  which  they  coa- 
lesced. Mr.  Percy  staid  with  his  old  friend  some  days, 
for  he  was  anxious  to  give  him  this  proof  of  attachment, 
and  felt  interested  in  seeing  his  character  develop  it- 
self in  a  new  direction,  displaying  fresh  life  and  strength, 
and  unexpected  resource  in  circumstances,  in  which 
statesmen  of  the  most  vigorous  minds,  and  of  the  high 
est  spirit,  have  been  seen  to  "  droop  and  drowse,"  to  sink 
into  indolence,  sensuality,  or  the  horrors  of  hypochon- 
driacism  and  superstition. 

Lord  Oldborough,  on  his  first  retiring  to  Clermont- 
park,  had  informed  Mr.  Percy  that  he  should  wish  to  see 
him  as  soon  as  he  had  arranged  certain  papers  He  now 
reminded  his  lordship  of  it,  and  Lord  Oldborough  put 
into  his  hands  a  sketch  which  he  had  been  drawing  out, 
of  the  principal  transactions  in  which  he  had  been  en- 
gaged during  his  political  career,  with  copies  of  his  let- 
ters to  the  first  public  characters  of  the  day  in  our  own 
and  in  foreign  countries.  Even  by  those  who  had  felt 


PATRONAGE.  117 

no  regard  for  the  man,  the  letters  of  such  a  minister 
would  have  been  read  with  avidity ;  but  Mr.  Percy 
perused  them  with  a  stronger  interest  than  any  which 
could  be  created  by  mere  political  or  philosophical  curi- 
osity. He  read  them  with  the  pleasure  which  a  gener- 
ous mind  takes  in  admiring  that  which  is  good  and  great — 
with  the  delight  which  a  true  friend  feels  in  seeing  proofs 
that  justify  all  the  esteem  he  had  previously  felt.  He 
saw  in  these  original  documents,  in  this  history  of  Lord 
Oldborough's  political  life,  the  most  perfect  consistency 
and  integrity,  the  most  disinterested  and  enlightened 
patriotism. 

When  Mr.  Percy  returned  the  manuscript  to  his  lord- 
ship, he  spoke  of  the  satisfaction  he  must  experience  in 
looking  back  upon  this  record  of  a  life  spent  in  the  ser- 
vice of  his  country,  and  observed  that  he  was  not  sur- 
prised that,  with  such  a  solid  source  of  self-approbation, 
such  indefeasible  claims  to  the  gratitude  of  his  country- 
men, and  such  well-earned  fame,  he  should  be,  as  he 
appeared,  happy  in  retirement. 

"  I  am  happy,  and,  I  believe,  principally  from  the  cause 
you  have  mentioned,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  who  had  a 
mind  too  great  for  the  affectation  of  humility.  "  So  far 
I  am  happy." 

"  Yet,"  added  he,  after  a  considerable  pause,  "  I 
have,  I  feel,  a  greater  capability  of  happiness,  for  which 
I  have  been  prevented  from  making  any  provision, 
partly  by  the  course  of  life  of  which  I  made  choice, 
and  partly  by  circumstances  over  which  I  had  no 
control." 

He  paused  again ;  and  turning  the  conversation, 
spoke  of  his  sister,  an  elderly  lady,  who  had  come  to 
pass  some  time  with  him.  They  had  lived  separate 
almost  all  their  lives ;  she  in  Scotland  with  her  husband, 
a  Scottish  nobleman,  who  having  died  about  the  time 
when  Lord  Oldborough  had  resigned  his  ministerial 
situation,  she  had  accepted  his  lordship's  invitation  to 
visit  him  in  his  retirement.  The  early  attachment  he 
had  had  for  this  sister  seemed  to  revive  in  his  mind 
when  they  met ;  and,  as  if  glad  to  have  some  object  for 
his  affections,  they  were  poured  out  upon  her.  Mr. 
Percy  observed  a  tenderness  in  his  manner  and  voice 
when  he  spoke  to  her,  a  thousand  little  attentions,  which 
no  one  would  have  expected  from  the  apparently  stem 


I  18  PATRONAGE. 

Lord  Oldborough,  a  man  who  had  been  engrossed  all 
his  life  by  politics. 

On  the  morning  of  the  last  day  which  Mr.  Percy 
meant  to  spend  at  Clermont-park,  his  lordship,  as  they 
were  sitting  together  in  his  study,  expressed  more  than 
common  regret  at  the  necessity  for  his  friend's  depart- 
ure, but  said,  "  I  have  no  right  to  detain  you  from  your 
family."  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added,  "Mr.  Percy, 
you  first  gave  me  the  idea  that  a  private  life  is  the 
happiest." 

"  My  lord,  in  most  cases  I  believe  it  is ;  but  I  never 
meant  to  assert  that  a  public  life  spent  in  noble  exer- 
tion, and  with  the  consciousness  of  superior  talent  and 
utility,  is  not  more  desirable  than  the  life  of  any  ob- 
scure individual  can  possibly  be,  even  though  he  possess 
the  pleasure  of  domestic  ease  and  tranquillity.  There 
are  men  of  eminent  abilities,  capable  of  extraordinary 
exertions,  inspired  by  exalted  patriotism — I  believe, 
notwithstanding  the  corruption  of  so  many  has  weak- 
ened all  faith  in  public  virtue,  I  believe  in  the  existence 
of  such  men — men  who  devote  themselves  to  the  ser- 
vice of  their  country :  when  the  time  for  their  relin- 
quishing the  toils  of  public  life  arrives,  honour  and  self- 
approbation  follow  them  in  retirement." 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  happy,"  repeated  Lord  Oldborough; 
"  but  to  go  on  with  what  I  began  to  say  to  you  yester- 
day— 1  feel  that  some  addition  might  be  made  to  my 
happiness.  The  sense  of  having,  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  done  my  duty,  is  satisfactory.  I  do  not  require 
applause — I  disdain  adulation — I  have  sustained  my 
public  life  without  sympathy — I  could  seldom  meet  with 
it — where  I  could,  I  have  enjoyed  it — and  could  now 
enjoy  it — exquisitely — as  you  do,  Mr.  Percy,  surrounded 
by  a  happy  family.  Domestic  life  requires  domestic 
pleasures — objects  for  the  affections." 

Mr.  Percy  felt  the  truth  of  this,  and  could  answer 
only  by  suggesting  the  idea  of  Mr.  Temple,  who  was 
firmly  and  warmly  attached  to  Lord  Oldborough,  and 
for  whom  his  lordship  had  a  strong  regard. 

"  Mr.  Temple  and  my  daughter  Rosamond,  whom 
your  lordship  honoured  with  so  kind  an  invitation,  pro- 
pose, I  know,  paying  their  respects  to  you  next  week. 
Though  I  am  her  father,  I  may  venture  to  say  that 
Rosamond's  sprightliness  is  so  mixed  with  solid  inform- 


PATRONAGE.  119 

ation  and  good  sense  that  her  society  will  become 
agreeable  to  your  lordship." 

"I  shall  rejoice  to  see  Mrs.  Temple  here.  As  the 
daughter  of  one  friend,  and  the  wife  of  another,  she 
has  a  double  claim  to  my  regard.  And  (to  say  nothing 
of  hereditary  genius  or  dispositions — in  which  you  do 
not  believe,  and  I  do)  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
society  of  a  lady,  educated  as  your  daughter  has  been, 
must  suit  my  taste.  The  danger  is,  that  her  society 
should  become  necessary  to  me.  For  Mr.  Temple  I 
already  feel  a  degree  of  affection,  which  I  must  repress 
rather  than  indulge." 

"  Repress ! — Why  so,  my  lord  T  You  esteem  him — 
you  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  his  attachment  ]" 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  why  with  stoicism — pardon  me,  my  dear  lord 
— why  repress  affection  T' 

"  Lest  I  should  become  dependent  for  my  daily  hap- 
piness on  one  whose  happiness  is  independent  of  mine 
— in  some  degree  incompatible  with  mine.  Even  if  his 
society  were  given  to  me,  his  heart  must  be  at  his 
home  and  with  his  family.  You  see  I  am  no  proud 
stoic,  but  a  man  who  dares  to  look  at  life — the  decline 
of  life,  such  as  it  is — as  it  must  be.  Different,  Mr. 
Percy,  in  your  situation,  and  in  mine." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  a  carriage. 

Lord  Oldborough  looked  out  of  the  window  as  it 
passed,  then  smiled,  and  observed  how  altered  the 
times  were,  since  Clermont-park  used  to  be  crowded 
with  visiters  and  carriages  ;  now  the  arrival  of  one  is 
an  event. 

The  servant  announced  a  foreign  name ;  a  Neapolitan 
abbe,  who  had  come  over  in  the  train  of  a  new  ambas- 
sador :  he  had  just  arrived  in  England,  and  had  letters 
from  the  Cardinal  ****,  his  uncle,  which  he  was  de- 
sired to  deliver  into  Lord  Oldborough's  own  hand.  The 
abbe  was,  it  appeared,  personally  a  stranger  to  him,  but 
there  had  been  some  ministerial  intercourse  between 
his  lordship  and  the  cardinal.  Lord  Oldborough  re- 
ceived these  political  letters  with  an  air  of  composure 
and  indifference,  which  proved  that  he  ceased  to  have 
an  interest  in  the  game. 

"  He  supposed,"  he  said,  "  that  the  abbe  had  been 
apprized  that  he  was  no  longer  one  of  his  majesty's 


120  PATRONAGE. 

ministers — that  he  had  resigned  his  official  situation — 
had  retired — and  that  he  took  no  part  whatever  in  public 
affairs." 

The  abbe  replied  that  he  had  been  apprized  that  Lord 
Oldborough  had  retired  from  the  public  office ;  but  his 
uncle,  he  added,  with  a  significant  smile,  was  aware 
that  Lord  Oldborough's  influence  was  as  great  still  as  it 
had  ever  been,  and  greater  than  that  of  any  ostensible 
minister. 

This  Lord  Oldborough  disclaimed — coolly  observing 
that  his  influence,  whatever  it  might  be,  could  not  be 
known  even  to  himself,  as  it  was  never  exerted ;  and 
that  as  he  had  determined  never  more  to  interfere  in 
public  business,  he  could  not  be  of  the  least  political 
service  to  the  cardinal.  The  Duke  of  Greenwich  was 
now  the  person  to  whom  on  such  subjects  all  applica- 
tions should  be  addressed. 

The  abbe,  however,  repeated,  that  his  instructions 
from  the  cardinal  were  positive  and  peremptory,  to  de- 
liver these  letters  into  no  hands  but  those  of  Lord  Old- 
borough — that  in  consequence  of  this  strict  injunction 
he  had  come  purposely  to  present  them.  He  was  in- 
structed to  request  his  lordship  would  not  put  the  letters 
into  the  hands  of  any  secretary,  but  would  have  the 
goodness  to  examine  them  himself,  and  give  his  counsel 
how  to  proceed,  and  to  whom  they  should,  in  case  of 
his  lordship's  declining  to  interfere,  be  addressed. 

"  Mr.  Percy !"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  recalling  Mr. 
Percy,  who  had  risen  to  quit  the  room,  "  you  will  not 
leave  me. — Whatever  you  may  wish  to  say,  M.  l'abb£, 
may  be  said  before  this  gentleman — my  friend." 

His  lordship  then  opened  the  packet,  examined  the 
letters — read  and  redirected  some  to  the  Duke  of  Green- 
wich, others  to  the  king :  the  abbe,  all  the  time,  des- 
canting vehemently  on  Neapolitan  politics — regretting 
Lord  Oldborough's  resignation — adverting  still  to  his 
lordship's  powerful  influence — and  pressing  some  point 
in  negotiation,  for  which  his  uncle,  the  cardinal,  was 
most  anxious. 

Among  the  letters,  there  was  one  which  Lord  Old- 
borough  did  not  open :  he  laid  it  on  the  table  with  the 
direction  downwards,  leaned  his  elbow  upon  it,  and  sat 
as  if  calmly  listening  to  the  abbe ;  but  Mr.  Percy,  know- 
ing his  countenance,  saw  signs  of  extraordinary  emo- 
tion, with  difficulty  repressed. 


PATRONAGE.  121 

At  length  the  gesticulating  abbe"  finished,  and  waited 
his  lordship's  instructions. 

They  were  given  in  few  words.  The  letters  re- 
directed to  the  king  and  the  Duke  of  Greenwich  were 
returned  to  him.  He  thanked  his  lordship  with  many 
Italian  superlatives — declined  his  lordship's  invitation 
to  stay  till  the  next  day  at  Clermont-park — said  he  was 
pressed  in  point  of  time — that  it  was  indispensably  ne- 
cessary for  him  to  be  in  London,  to  deliver  these  papers 
as  soon  as  possible.  His  eye  glanced  on  the  unopened 
letter. 

"  Private,  sir,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  in  a  stern  voice, 
without  moving  his  elbow  from  the  paper :  "  whatever 
answer  it  may  require,  I  shah1  have  the  honour  to  trans- 
mit to  you,  for  the  cardinal." 

The  abbe  bowed  low,  left  his  address,  and  took  leave. 
Lord  Oldborough,  after  attending  him  to  the  door,  and 
seeing  him  depart,  returned,  took  out  his  watch,  and 
said  to  Mr.  Percy,  "  Come  to  me,  in  my  cabinet,  in  five 
minutes." 

Seeing  his  sister  on  the  walk  approaching  his  house, 
he  added,  "  Let  none  follow  me." 

When  the  five  minutes  were  over,  Mr.  Percy  went 
to  Lord  Oldborough's  cabinet — knocked — no  answer — 
knocked  again — louder — all  was  silent — he  entered — 
and  saw  Lord  Oldborough  seated,  but  in  the  attitude  of 
one  just  going  to  rise ;  he  looked  more  like  a  statue  than 
a  living  person :  there  was  a  stiffness  in  his  muscles, 
and  over  his  face  and  hands  a  deathlike  colour.  His 
eyes  were  fixed,  and  directed  towards  the  door, — 
but  they  never  moved  when  Mr.  Percy  entered,  nor 
did  Lord  Oldborough  stir  at  his  approach.  From  one 
hand,  which  hung  over  the  arm  of  his  chair,  his  spec- 
tacles had  dropped ;  his  other  hand  grasped  an  open 
letter. 

"  My  dear  lord !"  cried  Mr.  Percy. 

He  neither  heard  nor  answered.  Mr.  Percy  opened 
the  window  and  let  down  the  blind.  Then  attempting 
to  raise  the  hand  which  hung  down,  he  perceived  it  was 
fixed  in  all  the  rigidity  of  catalepsy.  In  hopes  of  re- 
calling his  senses  or  his  power  of  motion,  Mr.  Percy 
determined  to  try  to  draw  the  letter  from  his  grasp ;  the 
moment  the  letter  was  touched,  Lord  Oldborough  started 
— his  eyes  darting  fiercely  upon  him. 

"  Who  dares  *  who  are  you,  sir  T"  cried  he. 

VOL.  XVI.— F 


122  PATRONAGE. 

"  Your  friend  Percy,  my  lord." 

Lord  Oldborough  pointed  to  a  chair — Mr.  Percy  sat 
down.  His  lordship  recovered  gradually  from  the  spe- 
cies of  trance  into  which  he  had  fallen.  The  catalep- 
tic rigidity  of  his  figure  relaxed — the  colour  of  life 
returned — the  body  regained  her  functions — the  soul 
resumed  at  once  her  powers.  Without  seeming  sen- 
sible of  any  interruption  or  intermission  of  feeling  or 
thought,  Lord  Oldborough  went  on  speaking  to  Mr. 
Percy. 

"  The  letter  which  I  now  hold  in  my  hand  is  from 
that  Italian  lady  of  transcendent  beauty,  in  whose  com- 
pany you  once  saw  me  when  we  first  met  at  Naples. 
She  was  of  high  rank — high  endowments.  I  loved 
her ;  how  well — I  need  not — cannot  say.  We  married 
secretly.  I  was  induced — no  matter  how — to  suspect 
her  fidelity ;  pass  over  these  circumstances ;  I  cannot 
speak  or  think  of  them.  We  parted — I  never  saw  her 
more.  She  retired  to  a  convent,  and  died  shortly  after : 
nor  did  I,  till  I  received  this  letter,  written  on  her  death- 
bed, know  that  she  had  given  me  a  son.  The  proofs 
that  I  wronged  her  are  irresistible.  Would  that  they 
had  been  given  to  me  when  I  could  have  repaired  my 
injustice !  But  her  pride  prevented  their  being  sent 
till  the  hour  of  her  death." 

On  the  first  reading  of  her  letter,  Lord  Oldborough 
had  been  so  struck  by  the  idea  of  the  injustice  he  had 
done  the  mother,  that  he  seemed  scarcely  to  advert  to 
the  idea  of  his  having  a  son.  Absorbed  in  the  past,  he 
was  at  first  insensible  both  to  the  present  and  the  fu- 
ture. Early  associations,  long  dormant,  were  suddenly 
wakened ;  he  was  carried  back  with  irresistible  force 
to  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  something  of  likeness  in 
air  and  voice  to  the  Lord  Oldborough  he  had  formerly 
known  appeared  to  Mr.  Percy.  As  the  tumult  of  pas- 
sionate recollections  subsided,  as  this  enthusiastic 
reminiscence  faded,  and  the  memory  of  the  past  gave 
way  to  the  sense  of  the  present,  Lord  Oldborough 
resumed  his  habitual  look  and  manner.  His  thoughts 
turned  upon  his  son,  that  unknown  being  who  belonged 
*o  him,  who  had  claims  upon  him,  who  might  form  a 
great  addition  to  the  happiness  or  misery  of  his  life. 
He  took  up  the  letter  again,  looked  for  the  passage 
that  related  to  his  son,  and  read  it  anxiously  to  him- 
self, then  to  Mr.  Percy— observing,  "  that  the  directions 


PATRONAGE.  123 

were  so  vague  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  act  uoon 
them." 

"  The  boy  was  sent,  when  three  years  old,  to  England 
or  Ireland,  under  the  care  of  an  Irish  priest,  who  de- 
livered him  to  a  merchant,  recommended  by  the  Ham- 
burgh banker,"  &c. 

"  I  shall  have  difficulty  in  tracing  this — great  danger 
of  being  mistaken  or  deceived,"  said  Lord  Oldborough, 
pausing  with  a  look  of  anxiety.  "  Would  to  God  that 
I  had  means  of  knowing  with  certainty  where,  and, 
above  all,  what  he  is,  or  that  I  had  never  heard  of  his 
existence !" 

"  My  lord,  are  there  any  more  particulars  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Percy,  eagerly. 

Lord  Oldborough  continued  to  read,  "  '  Four  hundred 
pounds  of  your  English  money  have  been  remitted  to 
him  annually,  by  means  of  these  Hamburgh  bankers.' 
To  them  we  must  apply  in  the  first  instance,"  said  Lord 
Oldborough,  "and  I  will  write  this  moment." 

"  I  think,  my  lord,  I  can  save  you  the  trouble,"  said 
Mr.  Percy ;  "  I  know  the  man." 

Lord  Oldborough  put  down  his  pen,  and  looked  at  Mr. 
Percy  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  however  extraordinary  it  may  appear, 
I  repeat  it — I  believe  I  know  your  son ;  and  if  he  be 
the  man  I  imagine  him  to  be,  I  congratulate  you — you 
have  reason  to  rejoice." 

"  The  facts,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  Lord  Oldborough ; 
"  do  not  raise  my  hopes." 

Mr.  Percy  repeated  all  that  he  had  heard  from  God- 
frey of  Mr.  Henry — related  every  circumstance  from 
the  first  commencement  of  them — the  impertinence 
and  insult  to  which  the  mystery  that  hung  over  his 
birth  had  subjected  him  in  the  regiment — the  quarrels 
in  the  regiment — the  goodness  of  Major  Gascoigne — 
the  gratitude  of  Mr.  Henry — the  attachment  between 
him  and  Godfrey — his  selling  out  of  the  regiment  after 
Godfrey's  ineffectual  journey  to  London — his  wishing 
to  go  into  a  mercantile  house — the  letter  which  God- 
frey then  wrote,  begging  his  father  to  recommend 
Mr.  Henry  to  Mr.  Gresham ;  disclosing  to  Mr.  Percy, 
with  Mr.  Henry's  permission,  all  that  he  knew  of  his 
birth. 

"  I  have  that  letter  at  home,"  said  Mr.  Percy;  "  your 
lordship  shall  see  it.  I  perfectly  recollect  the  circum- 
F2 


194  PATRONAGE 

stances  of  Mr.  Henry's  having  been  brought  up  in  Ire- 
land by  a  Dublin  merchant,  and  having  received  con- 
stantly a  remittance  in  quarterly  payments  of  four 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  from  a  banker  in  Cork." 

"  Did  he  inquire  why,  or  from  whom  ?"  said  Lord  Old- 
borough  ;  "  and  does  he  know  his  mother  ?" 

"  Certainly  not :  the  answer  to  his  first  inquiries  pre- 
vented all  further  questions.  He  was  told  by  the  bank- 
ers that  they  had  directions  to  stop  payment  of  the 
remittance  if  any  questions  were  asked." 

Lord  Oldborough  listened  with  profound  attention  as 
Mr.  Percy  went  on  with  the  history  of  Mr.  Henry,  re- 
lating all  the  circumstances  of  his  honourable  conduct 
with  respect  to  Miss  Panton — his  disinterestedness, 
decision,  and  energy  of  affection. 

Lord  Oldborough's  emotion  increased — he  seemed  to 
recognise  some  traits  of  his  own  character. 

"  I  hope  this  youth  is  my  son,"  said  his  lordship,  in  a 
low,  suppressed  voice. 

"  He  deserves  to  be  yours,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Percy. 

"  To  have  a  son  might  be  the  greatest  of  evils — to 
have  such  a  son  must  be  the  greatest  of  blessings,"  said 
his  lordship.  He  was  lost  in  thought  for  a  moment, 
then  exclaimed,  "  I  must  see  the  letter — I  must  see 
the  man." 

"  My  lord,  he  is  at  my  house." 

Lord  Oldborough  started  from  his  seat — "  Let  me  see 
him  instantly." 

"  To-morrow,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  in  a  calm 
tone,  for  it  was  necessary  to  calm  his  impetuosity — 
"  to-morrow.  Mr.  Henry  could  not  be  brought  here 
to-night  without  alarming  him,  or  without  betraying  to 
him  the  cause  of  our  anxiety." 

"  To-morrow  let  it  be — you  are  right,  my  dear  friend. 
Let  me  see  him  without  his  suspecting  that  I  am  any 
thing  to  him,  or  he  to  me — you  will  let  me  have  the 
letter  to-night." 

"  Certainly,  my  lord." 

Mr.  Percy  sympathized  with  his  impatience,  and 
gratified  it  with  all  the  celerity  of  a  friend ;  the  letter 
was  sent  that  night  to  Lord  Oldborough.  In  questioning 
his  sons  more  particularly  concerning  Mr.  Henry,  Mr. 
Percy  learned  from  Erasmus  a  fresh  and  strong  corrobo- 
rating circumstance.  Dr.  Percy  had  been  lately  attend- 
ing Mr.  Gresham's  porter,  O'Brien,  the  Irishman ;  who 


PATRONAGE.  125 

had  been  so  ill  that,  imagining  himself  dying,  he  had 
sent  for  a  priest.  Mr.  Henry  was  standing  by  the  poor 
fellow's  bedside  when  the  priest  arrived,  who  was  so 
much  struck  by  the  sight  of  him  that  for  some  time  his 
attention  could  scarcely  be  fixed  on  the  sick  man.  The 
priest,  after  he  had  performed  his  official  duties,  returned 
to  Mr.  Henry,  begged  pardon  for  having  looked  at  him 
with  so  much  earnestness,  but  said  that  Mr.  Henry 
strongly  reminded  him  of  the  features  of  an  Italian  lady 
who  had  committed  a  child  to  his  care  many  years  ago. 
This  led  to  further  explanation,  and  upon  comparing 
dates  and  circumstances,  Mr.  Henry  was  convinced  that 
this  was  the  very  priest  who  had  carried  him  over  to 
Ireland — the  priest  recognised  him  to  be  the  child  of 
whom  he  had  taken  charge ;  but  further,  all  was  dark- 
ness. The  priest  knew  nothing  more — not  even  the 
name  of  the  lady  from  whom  he  had  received  the  child. 
He  knew  only  that  he  had  been  handsomely  rewarded 
by  the  Dublin  merchant,  to  whom  he  had  delivered  the 
boy — and  he  had  heard  that  this  merchant  had  since  be- 
come bankrupt,  and  had  fled  to  America.  This  promise 
of  a  discovery,  and  sudden  stop  to  his  hopes,  had  only 
mortified  poor  Mr.  Henry,  and  had  irritated  that  curi- 
osity which  he  had  endeavoured  to  lull  to  repose. 

Mr.  Percy  was  careful,  both  for  Mr.  Henry's  sake 
and  for  Lord  Oldborough's,  not  to  excite  hopes  which 
might  not  ultimately  be  accomplished.  He  took  pre- 
cautions to  prevent  him  from  suspecting  any  thing 
extraordinary  in  the  intended  introduction  to  Lord  Old- 
borough. 

There  had  been  some  dispute  between  the  present 
minister  and  some  London  merchant,  about  the  terms 
of  a  loan  which  had  been  made  by  Lord  Oldborough — 
Mr.  Gresham's  house  had  some  concern  in  this  trans- 
action ;  and  it  was  now  settled  between  Mr.  Percy  and 
Lord  Oldborough,  that  his  lordship  should  write  to  de- 
sire to  see  Mr.  Henry,  who,  as  Mr.  Gresham's  partner, 
could  give  every  necessary  information.  Mr.  Henry 
accordingly  was  summoned  to  Clermont-park,  and  ac- 
companied Mr.  Percy,  with  his  mind  intent  upon  this 
business. 

Mr.  Henry,  in  common  with  all  who  were  capable  of 
estimating  a  great  public  character,  had  conceived  high 
admiration  for  Lord  Oldborough  ;  he  had  seen  him  only 
in  public,  and  at  a  distance — and  it  was  not  without  awe 


126  PATRONAGE. 

that  he  now  thought  of  being  introduced  to  him,  and  of 
hearing  and  speaking  to  him  in  private. 

Lord  Oldborough,  meanwhile,  who  had  been  satisfied 
by  the  perusal  of  the  letter,  and  by  Mr.  Percy's  inform- 
ation, waited  for  his  arrival  with  extreme  impatience. 
He  was  walking  up  and  down  his  room,  and  looking 
frequently  at  his  watch,  which  he  believed  more  than 
once  to  have  stopped.  At  length  the  door  opened. 

"Mr.  Percy  and  Mr.  Henry,  my  lord." 

Lord  Oldborough's  eye  darted  upon  Henry.  Struck 
instantly  with  the  resemblance  to  the  mother,  Lord  Old-, 
borough  rushed  forward,  and  clasping  him  in  his  arms,' 
exclaimed,  "  My  son  !" 

Tenderness,  excessive  tenderness  was  in  his  look, 
voice,  soul,  as  if  he  wished  to  repair  in  a  moment  the 
injustice  of  years. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Oldborough,  "  now  I  am  happy — now, 
I  also,  Mr.  Percy,  may  be  proud  of  a  son — I  too  shall 
know  the  pleasures  of  domestic  life.  Now  I  am  happy  '.'* 
repeated  he, 

"And,  pleased,  resigned 
To  tender  passions  all  his  mighty  mind." 

March  2Gth,  1813. 


END   OF   PATRONAGE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE. 

MEN. 

MR.  CARVER,  of  Bob's  Fort    .    .    A  Justice  of  the  Peace  in  Inland. 
OLD  MATTHEW  M'BRIDE  .    .    .   A  Rich  Farmer. 

PHILIP  M'BRIDE His  Son. 

RANDAL  ROONEY Son   of    the    Widow    Catherine 

Rooney —  a    lover    of   Honor 

M'Bride. 

MR.  GERALD  O'BLANEY     .    .    .   A  Distiller. 
PATRICK  Cox* Clerk  to  Gerald  O'Btaney. 

WOMEN. 

MRS.  CARVER Wife  of  Mr.  Carver. 

Miss  BLOOMSBURY A  fine  London  Waiting-maid  of 

Mrs.  Carver'*. 

MRS.  CATHERINE  ROONRY,  com- 
monly  called  CATTY  ROONEY    .    A    Widow — Mother  of  Randal 

Rooney. 
HONOR  M'BRIDE Daughter  ofMatthew  M'Bridt— 

and  Sister  of  Philip  M' Bride. 

A  Justict't  Clerk — a  Constable — Witnesses — and  two  Footmen. 


LOVE   AND  LAW. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Cottage. — A  Table— Breakfast. 
HONOR  M'BRIDE,  alone. 

Honor.  Phil ! — (calls) — Phil,  dear !  come  out. 

Phil,  (answers  from  within)  Wait  till  I  draw  on  my 
boots ! 

Honor.  Oh,  I  may  give  it  up :  he's  full  of  his  new  boots 
— and  singing,  see  ! 

Enter  PHIL  M'BRIDE,  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  Irish  truck- 
farmer  fashion,  singing, 

"  Oh  the  boy  of  Ball'navogue  ! 
Oh  the  dasher  !  oh  the  rogue  ! 
He's  the  thing  !  and  he's  the  pride 
Of  town  and  country,  Phi!  M'Bride — 
All  the  talk  of  shoe  and  brogue ! 
Oh  the  boy  of  BaU'na vogue !" 

There's  a  song  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  your — of 
your  brother,  Honor !  And  who  made  it  do  you  think, 
girH 

Honor.  Miss  Caroline  Flaherty,  no  doubt.  But,  dear 
Phil,  I've  a  favour  to  ask  of  you. 

Phil.  And  welcome!  What?  But  first,  see!  isn't  there 
an  elegant  pair  of  boots,  that  fits  a  leg  like  wax? — There's 
what'fl  plase  Car'line  Flaherty,  I'll  engage.  But  what 
ails  you,  Honor  T — you  look  as  if  your  own  heart  was 
like  to  break.  Are  not  you  for  the  fair  to-day  ? — and 
why  not  ? 

F3 


130  LOVE    AND   LAW  ; 

Honor.  Oh !  rasons. — (Aside)  Now  I  can't  speak. 

Phil.  Speak  on,  for  I'm  dumb  and  all  ear — speak  up, 
dear — no  fear  of  the  father's  coming  out,  for  he's  leaving 
his  bird  [i.  e.  beard]  in  the  basin,  and  that's  a  work  of 
time  with  him. — Tell  all  to  your  own  Phil. 

Honor.  Why  then  I  won't  go  to  the  fair — because — 
better  keep  myself  to  myself,  out  of  the  way  of  meeting 
them  that  mightn't  be  too  plasing  to  my  father. 

Phil.  And  might  be  too  plasing  to  somebody  else — 
Honor  M'Bride. 

Honor.  Oh  Phil,  dear  !  But  only  promise  me,  brother, 
dearest,  if  you  would  this  day  meet  any  of  the  Roo- 
neys — 

Phil.  That  means  Randal  Rooney. 

Honor.  No,  it  was  his  mother  Catty  was  in  my 
head. 

Phil.  A  bitterer  scpuld  never  was  ! — nor  a  bigger  law- 
yer in  petticoats,  which  is  an  abomination. 

Honor.  'Tis  not  pritty,  I  grant :  but  her  heart's  good, 
if  her  temper  would  give  it  fair  play.  But  will  you 
promise  me,  Phil,  whatever  she  says,  you  won't  let  her 
provoke  you  this  day  ? 

Phil.  How  in  the  name  of  wonder  will  I  hinder  her 
to  give  me  provocation?  and  when  the  spirit  of  the 
M'Brides  is  up— 

Honor.  But  don't  lift  a  hand. 

Phil.  Against  a  woman ! — no  fear — not  a  finger  against 
a  woman. 

Honor.  But  I  say  not  against  any  Rooney,  man  or 
woman.  Oh  Phil !  dear,  don't  let  there  be  any  fighting 
betwixt  the  M'Bride  and  Rooney  factions. 

Phil.  And  how  could  I  hinder  if  I  would  ?  The  boys 
will  be  having  a  row,  especially  when  they  get  the  spirits 
— and  all  the  better. 

Honor.  To  be  drinking !  Oh !  Phil,  the  mischief  that 
drinking  does ! 

Phil.  Mischief!  Quite  and  clane  the  contrary — when 
the  shillelah's  up,  the  pike's  down.  'Tis  when  there'd 
be  no  fights  at  fairs,  and  all  sober,  then  there's  rason  to 
dread  mischief.  No  man,  Honor,  dare  be  letting  the 
whiskey  into  his  head,  was  there  any  mischief  in  his 
heart. 

Honor.  Well,  Phil,  you've  made  it  out  now  cliverly. 
So  there's  most  danger  of  mischief  when  men's  sober — 
is  that  it  ? 


A.    DRAMA.  131 

Phil.  Irishmen — ay;  for  sobriety  is  not  the  nat'ral 
state  of  the  craturs ;  and  what's  not  nat'ral  is  hypocrit- 
ical ;  and  a  hypocrite  is,  and  was,  and  ever  will  be  my 
contempt. 

Honor.  And  mine  too.     But — 

Phil.  But  here's  my  hand  for  you,  Honor.  They  call 
me  a  beau  and  a  buck,  a  slasher  and  dasher,  and  flourish- 
ing Phil.  All  that  I  am,  may  be  ;  but  there's  one  thing 
I  am  not,  and  will  never  be — and  that's  a  bad  brother  to 
you.  So  you  have  my  honour,  and  here's  my  oath  to 
the  back  of  it.  By  all  the  pride  of  man  and  all  the  con- 
sate  of  woman — where  will  you  find  a  bigger  oath  1 — 
happen  what  will,  this  day,  I'll  not  lift  my  hand  against 
Randal  Rooney ! 

Honor.  Oh  thanks !  warm  from  the  heart.  But  here's 
my  father — and  where's  breakfast  * 

Phil.  Oh  !  I  must  be  at  him  for  a  horse :  you,  Honor, 
mind  and  back  me. 

Enter  OLD  M'SaroE. 

Old  MB.  Late  I  am  this  fair  day  all  along  with  my 
beard,  that  was  thicker  than  a  hedgehog's.  Breakfast, 
where  ? 

Honor.  Here,  father  dear — all  ready. 

Old  M1B.  There's  a  jewel ,'  always  supple  o'  foot. 
Phil,  call  to  them  to  bring  out  the  horse  bastes,  while  I 
swallow  my  breakfast — and  a  good  one,  too. 

Phil.  Your  horse  is  all  ready  standing,  sir.  But  that's 
what  I  wanted  to  ax  you,  father — will  you  be  kind 
enough,  sir,  to  shell  out  for  me  the  price  of  a  daacent 
horse,  fit  to  mount  a  man  like  me  * 

Old  M1B.  What  ails  the  baste  you  have  under  you 
always  t 

Phil.  Fit  only  for  the  hounds :  not  to  follow,  but  to 
feed  'em. 

Old  MB.  Hounds !  I  don't  want  you,  Phil,  to  be  fol- 
lowing the  hounds  at-all-at-all. 

Honor.  But  let  alone  the  hounds.  If  you  sell  your 
bullocks  well  in  the  fair  to-day,  father  dear,  I  think  you'll 
be  so  kind  to  spare  Phil  the  price  of  a  horse. 

Old  MB.  Stand  out  o'  my  way,  Honor,  with  that 
wheedling  voice  o'  your  own — I  won't.  Mind  your  own 
affairs — you're  leaguing  again  me,  and  I'U  engage 
Randal  Rooney's  at  the  bottom-  of  all — and  the  cement 


132  LOVE    AND    LAW  J 

that  sticks  you  and  Phil  so  close  together.  But  mind, 
Madam  Honor,  if  you  give  him  the  meeting  at  the  fair 
the  day — 

Honor.  Dear  father,  I'm  not  going — I  give  up  the 
fair  o'  purpose,  for  fear  I'd  see  him. 

Old  M?B.  (kissing  her)  Why,  then,  you're  a  piece 
of  an  angel ! 

Honor.  And  you'll  give  my  brother  the  horse  1 

Old  M'B.  I  won't !  when  I've  said  I  won't,  I  won't. 
[Buttons  his  coat,  and  exit. 

Phil.  Now  there's  a  sample  of  a  father  for  ye  ! 

Old  M*B.  (returning)  And,  Mistress  Honor,  maybe 
you'd  be  staying  at  home  to — Where's  Randal  Rooney 
to  be,  pray,  while  I'd  be  from  home  ! 

Honor.  Oh,  father,  would  you  suspect — 

Old  M^B.  (catching  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissing  her  again 
and  again)  Then  you're  a  true  angel,  every  inch  of  you. 
But  not  a  word  more  hi  favour  of  the  horse — sure  the 
money  for  the  bullocks  shall  go  to  your  portion,  every 
farthing. 

Honor.  There's  the  thing !  (Holding  her  father)  1 
don't  wish  that. 

Phil,  (stopping  her  mouth)  Say  no  more,  Honor — I'm 
best  pleased  so. 

Old  MB.  (aside)  I'll  give  him  the  horse,  but  he  sha'n't 
know  it. — (Aloud)  I  won't.  When  I  say  I  won't,  did  I 
ever  1  [Exit  OLD  M'BRIDE. 

Phil.  Never  since  the  world  stud — to  do  you  justice, 
you  are  as  obstinate  as  a  mule.  Not  all  the  bullocks 
he's  carrying  to  the  fair  the  day,  nor  all  the  bullocks  in 
Ballynavogue  joined  to  'em,  in  one  team,  would  draw 
that  father  o'  mine  one  inch  out  of  his  way. 

Honor,  (aside,  with  a  deep  sigh)  Oh,  then,  what  will  I 
do  about  Randal  ever  ! 

Phil.  As  close  a  fisted  father  as  ever  had  the  grip  of  a 
guinea !  If  the  guineas  was  all  for  you — wilcome,  Honor ! 
But  that's  not  it.  Pity  of  a  lad  o'  spirit  like  me  to  be 
cramped  by  such  a  hunx  of  a  father. 

Honor.  Oh  !  don't  be  calling  him  names,  Phil :  stiff  he 
is,  more  than  close — and,  any  way,  Phil  dear,  he's  the 
father  still — and  ould,  consider. 

Phil.  He  is — and  I'm  fond  enough  of  him,  too,  would 
he  only  "give  me  the  price  of  a  horse.  But  no  matter — 
spite  of  him  I'll  have  my  swing  the  day,  and  it's  I  that 
will  tear  away  with  a  good  horse  under  me,  and  a  good 


A   DRAMA.  133 

whip  over  him,  in  a  capital  style,  up  and  down  the  street 
of  Ballynavogue,  for  you,  Miss  Car'line  Flaherty!  I 
know  who  I'll  go  to,  this  minute — a  man  I'll  engage 
will  lend  me  the  loan  of  his  bay  gelding ;  and  that's 
Counshillor  Gerald  O'Blaney. 

[Going,  HONOR  stops  him. 

Honor.  Gerald  O'Blaney !  Oh,  brother  ! — Mercy  ! — 
Don't !  any  thing  rather  than  that — 

Phil,  (impatiently)  Why  then,  Honor1? 

Honor,  (aside)  If  I'd  tell  him,  there'd  be  mischief. — 
(Aloud)  Only,  I  wouldn't  wish  you  under  a  compliment 
to  one  I've  no  opinion  of. 

Phil.  Phoo !  you've  taken  a  prejudice.  What  is  there 
again  Counshillor  O'Blaney  ? 

Honor.  Counshillor !  First  place,  why  do  you  call  him 
counshillor  ?  He  never  was  a  raal  counshillor,  sure — 
nor  jantleman  at  all. 

Phil.  Oh  !  counshillor  by  courtesy  ;  he  was  an  attor- 
ney once — just  as  we  doctor  the  apotecary. 

Honor.  But,  Phil,  was  not  there  something  of  this 
man's  being  dismissed  the  courts  for  too  sharp  prac- 
tice 1 

Phil.  But  that  was  long  ago,  if  it  ever  was.  There's 
sacrets  in  all  families  to  be  forgotten — bad  to  be  raking 
the  past.  I  never  knew  you  so  sharp  on  a  neighbour, 
Honor,  before  :  what  ails  ye  1 

Honor,  (sighing)  I  can't  tell  ye.          [Still  holding  him. 

Phil.  Let  me  go,  then ! — Nonsense  ! — the  boys  of 
Ballynavogue  will  be  wondering,  and  Miss  Car'line  most. 

[Exit,  singing, 
"  Oh  the  boys  of  Ball'navogBe." 

HONOR,  alone. 

Honor.  O  Phil !  I  could  not  tell  it  you ;  but  did  you  but 
know  how  that  Gerald  O'Blaney  insulted  your  shister  with 
his  vile  proposhals,  you'd  no  more  ask  the  loan  of  his 
horse  ! — and  I  in  dread  whenever  I'd  be  left  in  the  house 
alone  that  that  bad  man  would  boult  in  upon  me — and 
Randal  to  find  him  !  and  Randal's  like  gunpowder  when 
his  heart's  touched  ! — and  if  Randal  should  come  by  him- 
self, worse  again  !  Honor,  where  would  be  your  reso- 
lution to  forbid  him  your  presence  ?  Then  there's  but 
one  way  to  be  right;  I'll  lave  home  entirely.  Down,proud 
stomach!  You  must  go  to  service,  Honor  M'Bride. 


134  LOVE   AND   LAW  ; 

There's  Mrs.  Carver,  kind-hearted  lady,  is  wanting  a 
girl — she's  English,  and  nice ;  maybe  I'd  not  be  good 
enough ;  but  I  can  but  try,  and  do  my  best ;  any  thing 
to  plase  the  father.  [Exit  HONOR. 


SCENE  II. 

O'BLANEY'S  Counting-house. 
GERALD  O'BLANEY  alone  at  a  desk  covered  with  Papers. 

G'Bla.  Of  all  the  employments  in  life,  this  eternal 
balancing  of  accounts,  see-saw,  is  the  most  sickening 
of  all  things,  except  it  would  be  the  taking  the  inven- 
tory of  your  stock,  when  you're  reduced  to  invent  the 
stock  itself;  then  that's  the  most  lowering  to  a  man 
of  all  things !  But  there's  one  comfort  in  this  distillery 
business — come  what  will,  a  man  has  always  proof 
spirits. 

Enter  PAT  Coxa. 

Pat .  The  whole  tribe  of  Connaught  men  come,  crav- 
ing to  be  ped  for  the  oats,  counsellor,  due  since  last  Se- 
rapht*  fair. 

G'Bla.  Can't  be  ped  to-day,  let  'em  crave  never  so. 
T«ll  'em  Monday ;  and  give  'em  a  glass  of  whiskey  round, 
and  that  will  send  'em  offcontint,  in  a  jerry. 

Pat.  I  shall — I  will — I  see,  sir.  [Exit  PAT  COXE. 

G'Bla.  Asy  settled  that ! — but  I  hope  many  more  duns 
for  oats  won't  be  calling  on  me  this  day,  for  cash  is  not 
to  be  had :  here's  bills  plenty— long  bills,  and  short  bills 
— but  even  the  kites,  which  I  can  fly  as  well  as  any 
man,  won't  raise  the  wind  for  me  now. 

Re-enter  PAT. 

Pat.  Tim  M'Gudikren,  sir,  for  his  debt — and  talks  of 
the  sub-sheriff,  and  can't  wait. 

G'Bla.  I  don't  ax  him  to  wait ;  but  he  must  take  in 
payment,  since  he's  in  such  a  hurry,  this  bill  at  thirty 
one  days,  tell  him. 
Pat.  I  shall  tell  him  so,  plase  your  honour. 

[Exit  PAT. 
*  Shroretide. 


A   DRAMA.  135 

•  O'Bla.  They  have  all  rendezvous'd  to  drive  me  mad 
this  day ;  but  the  only  thing  is  to  keep  the  head  cool. 
What  I'm  dreading  beyant  all  is,  if  that  ould  Matthew 
M'Bride,  who  is  as  restless  as  a  ferret  when  he  has 
lodged  money  with  any  one,  should  come  this  day  to 
take  out  of  my  hands  the  two  hundred  pounds  I've  got 
of  his.  Oh,  then  I  might  shut  up !  But  stay,  I'll  match 
him — and  I'll  match  myself  too.  That  daughter  Honor 
of  his  is  a  mighty  pretty  girl  to  look  at — and  since  I 
can't  get  her  any  other  way,  why  not  ax  her  in  mar- 
riage !  Her  portion  is  to  be — 

Re-enter  PAT, 

Pat.  The  protested  note,  sir — with  the  charge  of  the 
protest  to  the  back  of  it,  from  Mrs.  Lorigan ;  and  her 
compliments,  and  to  know  what  will  she  do  ? 

G'Bla.  What  will  /do  ?  fitter  to  ax.  My  kind  com 
pliments  to  Mrs.  Lorigaa,  and  I'll  call  upon  her  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  to  settle  it  all. 

Pat.  I  understand,  sir.  [Exit  PAT. 

G'Bla.  Honor  M'Bride's  portion  will  be  five  hundred 
pounds  on  the  nail ;  that  would  be  no  bad  bit,  and  she, 
a  good,  clever,  likely  girl.  I'll  pop  the  question  this  day. 

Re-enter  PAT. 

Pat.  Corkeran  the  cooper's  bill,  as  long  as  my  arm. 

G'Bla.  Oh  !  don't  be  bothering  me  any  more.  Have 
you  no  sinse1?  Can't  you  get  shut  of  Corkeran  the 
cooper  without  me  1  Can't  ye  quarrel  with  the  items  T 
Tear  the  bill  down  the  middle,  if  necessary,  and  sind 
him  away  with  a  flay  [flea]  in  his  ear,  to  make  out  a 
proper  bill — which  I  can't  see  till  to-morrow,  mind.  1 
never  pay  any  man  on  fair-day. 

Pat.  (aside)  Nor  on  any  other  day. — (Aloud)  Corke- 
ran's  my  cousin,  counsellor,  and,  if  convanient,  I'd  be 
glad  you'd  advance  him  a  pound  or  two  on  account. 

O'J5/a.  'Tis  not  convanient  was  he  twenty  times  your 
cousin,  Pat.  I  can't  be  paying  in  bits,  nor  on  account 
— all  or  none. 

Pat.  None,  then,  I  may  tell  him,  sir  1 

G'Bla.  You  may — you  must ;  and  don't  come  up  for 
any  of  'em  any  more.  It's  hard  if  I  can't  have  a  minute 
to  talk  to  myself. 


136  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Pat.  And  it's  hard  if  I  can't  have  a  minute  to  eat  my 
breakfast,  too,  which  I  have  not.  [Exit  PAT. 

O'Bla.  Where  was  I  * — I  was  popping  the  question 
to  Honor  M'Bride.  The  only  thing  is,  whether  the  girl 
herself  wouldn't  have  an  objection  :  there's  that  Randal 
Rooney  is  a  great  bachelor  of  hers,  and  I  doubt  she'd 
be  apt  to  prefar  him  before  me,  even  when  I'd  pur- 
pose marriage.  But  the  families  of  the  Rooneys  and 
M'Brides  is  at  variance — then  I  must  keep  'em  so.  I'll 
keep  Catty  Rooney's  spirit  up,  niver  to  consent  to  that 
match.  Oh !  if  them  Rooneys  and  M'Brides  were  by 
any  chance  to  make  it  up,  I'd  be  undone ;  but  against 
that  catastrophe  I've  a  preventative.  Pat  Coxe !  Pat 
Coxe !  where  are  you,  my  young  man  1 

Enter  PAT,  wiping  his  mouth. 

Pat.  Just  swallowing  my  breakfast. 

CFBla.  Mighty  long  swallowing  you  are.  Here — 
don't  be  two  minutes  till  you  are  at  Catty  Rooneys,  and 
let  me  see  how  cliverly  you'll  execute  that  confidential 
embassy  I  trusted  you  with.  Touch  Catty  up  about  her 
ould  ancient  family,  and  all  the  kings  of  Ireland  she 
comes  from.  Blarnay  her  cliverly,  and  work  her  to  a 
foam  against  the  M'Brides. 

Pat.  Never  fear,  your  honour.  I'll  tell  her  the  story 
we  agreed  on,  of  Honor  M'Bride  meeting  of  Randal 
Rooney  behind  the  chapel. 

O'Bla.  That  will  do— don't  forget  the  ring ;  for  I  mane 
to  put  another  on  the  girl's  finger,  if  she's  agreeable,  and 
knows  her  own  interest.  But  that  last's  a  private  ar- 
ticle. Not  a  word  of  that  to  Catty,  you  understand  ! 

Pat.  Oh !  I  understand — and  I'll  engage  I'll  compass 
Catty,  tho'  she's  a  cunning  shaver. 

O'Bla.  Cunning  * — No ;  she's  only  hot  tempered,  and 
asy  managed. 

Pat.  Whatever  she  is,  I'll  do  my  best  to  plase  you. 
And  I  expict  your  honour,  counsellor,  won't  forget  the 
promise  you  made  me,  to  ask  Mr.  Carver  for  that  little 
place — that  situation  that  would  just  shute  me. 

O'Bla.  Never  fear,  never  fear.  Time  enough  to  think 
of  shuting  you,  when  you've  done  my  business. 

[Exit  PAT. 

That  will  work  like  barm,  and  ould  Matthew,  the  father, 
I'll  speak  to  myself  genteelly.    He  will  be  proud,  I  war- 


A    DRAMA.  137 

rant,  to  match  his  daughter  with  a  gentleman  like  me. 
But  what  if  he  should  smell  a  rat,  and  want  to  be  look- 
ing into  my  affairs  ?  Oh !  I  must  get  it  sartified  properly 
to  him  before  all  things,  that  I'm  as  safe  as  the  bank ; 
and  I  know  who  shall  do  that  for  me — my  worthy  friend, 
that  most  consequential  magistrate,  Mr.  Carver  of  Bob's 
Fort,  who  loves  to  be  advising  and  managing  of  all  men, 
women,  and  children,  for  their  good.  'Tis  he  shall  ad- 
vise ould  Matthew  for  my  good.  Now,  Carver  thinks 
he  lades  the  whole  county,  and  ten  mile  round;  but 
who  is  it  lades  him,  I  want  to  know  ?  Why,  Gerald 
O'Blaney.  And  how!  Why,  by  a  spoonful  of  the  uni- 
versal panacea,  flattery — in  the  vulgar  tongue,  flummery. 
(A  knock  at  the  door  heard.)  Who's  rapping  at  the  street ! 
— Carver  of  Bob's  Fort  himself,  in  all  his  glory  this  fair- 
day.  See,  then,  how  he  struts  and  swells.  Did  ever 
man,  but  a  pacock,  look  so  fond  of  himself  with  less 
rason  1  But  I  must  be  caught  deep  in  accounts,  and  a 
balance  of  thousands  to  credit.  (Sits  down  to  his  desk 
to  account-books.)  Seven  thousand,  three  hundred,  and 
twopence.  (Starting  and  rising.)  Do  I  see  Mr.  Carver 
of  Bob's  Fort  1  Oh !  the  honour — 

Mr.  Carv.  Don't  stir,  pray — I  beg — I  request — I  insist. 
I  am  by  no  means  ceremonious,  sir. 

G'Bla.  (bustling  and  setting  two  chairs)  No,  but  I'd 
wish  to  show  respect  proper  to  him  I  consider  the  first 
man  in  the  county. 

Mr.  Carv.  (aside)  Man !   gentleman,  he  might  have 
said. 
[Mr.  CARVER  sits  down,  and  rests  himself  consequentially. 

CfBla.  Now,  Mr.  Carver  of  Bob's  Fort,  you've  been 
over- fatiguing  yourself — 

Mr.  Carv.  For  the  public  good.     I  can't  help  it,  really. 

G'Bla.  Oh !  but,  upon  my  word  and  honour,  it's  too 
much  :  there's  rason  in  all  things.  A  man  of  Mr.  Car- 
ver's fortin  to  be  slaving !  If  you  were  a  man  in  business, 
like  me,  it  would  be  another  thing.  I  must  slave  at 
the  desk  to  keep  all  round.  See,  Mr.  Carver,  see ! — 
ever  since  the  day  you  advised  me  to  be  as  particular 
as  yourself  in  keeping  accounts  to  a  farthing,  I  do,  to  a 
fraction,  even  like  state  accounts — see  ! 

Mr.  Carv.  And  I  trust  you  find  your  advantage  in  it, 
sir.  Pray,  how  does  the  distillery  business  go  on ! 

CfBla.  Swimmingly !  ever  since  that  time,  Mr.  Carver, 


138  LOVE    AND    LAW  ; 

your  interest  at  the  castle  helped  me  at  the  dead  lift, 
and  got  that  fine  took  off.  'Tis  to  your  purtiction, 
encouragement,  and  advice  entirely,  1  owe  my  present 
unexampled  prosperity,  which  you  prophesied;  and 
Mr,  Carver's  prophecies  seldom,  I  may  say  never,  fail 
to  be  accomplished. 

Mr.  Carv.  I  own  there  is  some  truth  in  your  observa- 
tion. I  confess  I  have  seldom  been  mistaken  or  de- 
ceived in  my  judgment  of  man,  woman,  or  child. 

O'Bla.  Who  can  say  so  much  * 

Mr.  Carv.  For  what  reason,  I  don't  pretend  to  say; 
but  the  fact  ostensibly  is,  that  the  few  persons  I  direct 
with  my  advice  are  unquestionably  apt  to  prosper  in  this 
world. 

O'Bla.  Mighty  apt !  for  which  rason  I  would  wish  to 
trouble  you  for  your  unprecedently  good  advice  on 
another  pint,  if  it  would  not  be  too  great  a  liberty. 

Mr.  Carv.  No  liberty  at  all,  my  good  Gerald — I  am 
always  ready  to  advise — only  to-day — certainly,  the 
fair-day  of  Ballynavogue,  there  are  so  many  calls  upon 
me,  both  in  a  public  and  private  capacity,  so  much  busi- 
ness of  vital  importance ! 

O'Bla.  (aside)  Vital  importance ! — that  is  his  word, 
on  all  occasions. — (Aloud)  Maybe  then  (oh!  where 
was  my  head  ?)  maybe  you  would  not  have  breakfasted 
all  this  time  1  and  we've  the  kittle  down  always  in  this 
house  (rising) — Pat ! — Jack  ! — Mick ! — Jenny !  put  the 
kittle  down. 

Mr.  Carv.  Sit  down,  sit  still,  my  worthy  fellow. 
Breakfasted  at  Bob's  Fort,  as  I  always  do. 

O'Bla.  But  a  bit  of  cake — a  glass  of  wine,  to  refrish 
and  replinish  nature. 

Mr.  Carv.  Too  early — spoil  my  dinner.  But  what 
was  I  going  to  say  T 

O'Bla.  (aside)  Burn  me  if  1  know  ;  and  I  pray  all  the 
saints  you  may  never  recollect. 

Mr.  Carv.  I  recollect.  How  many  times  do  you  think 
I  was  stopped  on  horseback  coming  up  the  street  of 
Ballynavogue  1 — Five  times  by  weights  and  measures, 
imperiously  calling  for  reformation,  sir.  Thirteen  times, 
upon  my  veracity,  by  booths,  apple-stalls,  nuisances, 
vagabonds,  and  drunken  women.  Pigs  without  end, 
sir — wanting  ringing,  and  all  squealing  in  my  ears, 
while  I  was  settling  sixteen  disputes  about  tolls  and 


A  DRAMA.  139 

customs.  Add  to  this,  my  regular  battle  every  fair- 
day  with  the  crane,  which  ought  to  be  anywhere  but 
where  it  is  ;  and  my  perpetual  discoveries  of  fraudulent 
kegs,  and  stones  in  the  butter !  Now,  sir,  I  only  ask, 
can  you  wonder  that  I  wipe  my  forehead  1  (wiping  his 
forehead.) 

G'Bla.  In  troth,  Mr.  Carver,  I  cannot!  But  these 
are  the  pains  and  penalties  of  being  such  a  man  of  con- 
sequence as  you  evidently  are ;  and  I  that  am  now 
going  to  add  to  your  troubles  too  by  consulting  you 
about  my  little  pint ! 

Mr.  Carv.  A  point  of  law,  I  dare  to  say ;  for  people 
somehow  or  other  have  got  such  a  prodigious  opinion 
of  my  law.  (Takes  snuff.) 

CfBla.  (aside)  No  coming  to  the  pint  till  he  has 
finished  his  own  panegyric. 

Mr.  Carv.  And  I  own  I  cannot  absolutely  turn  my 
back  on  people.  Yet  as  to  poor  people,  I  always  settle 
them  by  telling  them  it  is  my  principle  that  law  is  too 
expensive  for  the  poor:  I  tell  them  the  poor  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  laws. 

G'Bla.  Except  the  penal. 

Mr.  Carv.  True,  the  civil  is  for  us,  men  of  property : 
and  no  man  should  think  of  going  to  law  without  he's 
qualified.  There  should  be  licenses. 

O'Bla.  No  doubt.     Pinalties  there  are  in  plinty  ;  still 
those  who   can  afford   should  indulge.     In  Ireland  it 
would  as  ill  become  a  gentleman  to  be  any  way  shy  of 
a  law-shute  as  of  a  duel. 
*Mr.  Carv.  Yet  law  is  expensive,  sir,  even  to  me. 

G'Bla.  But  'tis  the  best  economy  in  the  end ;  for 
when  once  you  have  cast  or  non-shuted  your  man  in  the 
courts,  'tis  as  good  as  winged  him  in  the  field.  And 
suppose  you  don't  get  sixpence  costs,  and  lose  your 
cool  hundred  by  it,  still  it's  a  great  advantage ;  for  you 
are  let  alone  to  enjoy  your  own  in  pace  and  quiet  ever 
after,  which  you  could  not  do  in  this  county  without  it. 
But  the  love  of  the  law  has  carried  me  away  from  my 
business :  the  pint  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about  is  not 
a  pint  of  law ;  'tis  another  matter. 

Mr.  Carv.  (looking  at  his  watch)  I  must  be  at  Bob's 
Fort,  to  seal  my  despatches  for  the  castle.  And  there's 
another  thing  1  say  of  myself. 

CfBla.  (aside)  Remorseless  agotist ! 

Mr.  Carv.  I  don't  know  how,  the  people  all  have  got 


140  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

such  an  idea  of  my  connexions  at  the  castle,  and  my 
influence  with  his  excellency,  that  I  am  worried  with 
eternal  applications :  they  expect  I  can  make  them  all 
gaugers  or  attorney-generals,  I  believe.  How  do  they 
know  I  write  to  the  castle  * 

O'Bla.  Oh !  the  post-office  tells  asy  by  the  big  sales 
(seals)  to  your  despatches — (aside)  which,  I'll  engage, 
is  all  the  castle  ever  rades  of  them,  though  Carver  has 
his  excellency  always  in  his  mouth,  God  help  him ! 

Mr.  Carv.  Well,  you  wanted  to  consult  me,  Gerald  1 

O'Bla.  And  you'll  give  me  your  advice,  which  will 
be  conclusive,  law,  and  every  thing  to  me.  You  know 
the  M'Brides — would  they  be  safe  ? 

Mr.  Carv.  Very  safe,  substantial  people. 

O'Bla.  Then  here's  the  thing,  Mr.  Carver:  as  you 
recommended  them,  and  as  they  are  friends  of  yours — 
I  will  confess  to  you  that,  though  it  might  not  in  pint 
of  interest  be  a  very  prudent  match,  I  am  thinking  that 
Honor  M'Bride  is  such  a  prudent  girl,  and  Mrs.  Carver 
has  taken  her  by  the  hand,  so  I'd  wish  to  follow  Mrs. 
Carver's  example  for  life,  in  taking  Honor  by  the  hand 
for  better  or  worse. 

Mr.  Carv.  In  my  humble  opinion  you  cannot  do  better ; 
and  I  can  tell  you  a  secret — Honor  will  have  no  con- 
temptible fortune  in  that  rank  of  life. 

O'Bla.  Oh,  fortune's  always  contemptible  in  marriage. 

Mr.  Carv.  Fortune !  sir  1 

O'Bla.  (aside)  Overshot. — (Aloud)  In  comparison 
with  the  patronage  and  protection  or  countenance  she'd 
have  from  you  and  your  family,  sir. 

Mr.  Carv.  That  you  may  depend  upon,  my  good 
Gerald,  as  far  as  we  can  go ;  but  you  know  we  are 
nothing. 

O'Bla.  Oh,  I  know  you're  every  thing — every  thing 
on  earth — particularly  with  ould  M'Bride  ;  and  you  know 
how  to  speak  so  well  and  iloquent,  and  I'm  so  tongue- 
tied  and  baashful  on  such  an  occasion. 

Mr.  Carv.  Well,  well,  I'll  speak  for  you. 

O'Bla.  A  thousand  thanks  down  to  the  ground. 

Mr.  Carv.  (patting  him  on  the  back  as  he  rises)  My  poor 
Gerald. 

O'Bla.  Then  I  am  poor  Gerald  in  point  of  wit,  I  know ; 
but  you  are  too  good  a  friend  to  be  calling  me  poor  to 
ould  M'Bride — you  can  say  what  I  can't  say. 

Mr.  Carv.  Certainly,  certainly ;  and  you  may  depend 


A   DRAMA.  141 

on  me.     I  shall  speak  my  decided  opinion ;  and  I  fancy 
M'Bride  has  sense  enough  to  be  ruled  by  me. 

O'Bla.  I'm  sure  he  has — only  there's  a  Randal  Roo- 
ney,  a  wild  young  man,  in  the  case.  I'd  be  sorry  the 
girl  was  thrown  away  upon  Randal. 

Mr.  Carv.  She  has  too  much  sense :  the  father  will 
settle  that,  and  I'll  settle  the  father. 

[Mr.  CARVER  going. 

G'Bla.  (following,  aside)  And  who  has  settled  you  ? 

Mr.  Carv.  Don't  stir — don't  stir — men  of  business 
must  be  nailed  to  a  spot — and  I'm  not  ceremonious. 

{Exit  Mr.  CARVER. 

G'Bla.  Pinned  him,  by  all  that's  cllver  ! 

[Exit  O'BLANEY. 


SCENE    III. 

Mrs.  CARVER'S  Dressing-room. 
Mrs.  CARVER  sitting  at  work. — BLOOMSBURY  standing. 

Bloom.  Certainly,  ma'am,  what  I  always  said  was, 
that  for  the  commonalty  there's  no  getting  out  of  an 
Irish  cabin  a  girl  fit  to  be  about  a  lady  such  as  you,  Mrs. 
Carver,  in  the  shape  of  a  waiting-maid  or  waiting-maid's 
assistant,  on  account  they  smell  so  of  smoke,  which  is 
very  distressing  ;  but  this  Honor  M'Bride  seems  a  better- 
most  sort  of  girl,  ma'am ;  if  you  can  make  up  your 
mind  to  her  vice. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Vice  ? 

Bloom.  That  is,  Vicious  pronunciations,  in  regard  to 
their  Irish  brogues. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Is  that  all  1 — I  am  quite  accustomed  to 
the  accent. 

Bloom.  Then,  ma'am,  I  declare  now,  I've  been  forced 
to  stuff  my  hears  with  cotton  wool  hever  since  I  corned 
to  Ireland.  But  this  here  Honor  M'Bride  has  a  mighty 
pretty  vice,  if  you  don't  take  exceptions  to  a  little  nation- 
ality ;  nor  she  is  not  so  smoke-dried  ;  she's  really  a  nice, 
tidy-looking-like  girl,  considering.  I've  taken  tea  with 
the  family  often,  and  they  live  quite  snug  for  Hirish. 
I'll  assure  you,  ma'am,  quite  better-most  people  for 
Hibernians,  as  you  always  said,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Carv.  I  have  a  regard  for  old  Matthew,  tho'  he 
is  something  of  a  miser,  I  fear. 


142  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Bloom.  So,  ma'am,  shall  I  call  the  girl  up,  that  we 
may  see  and  talk  to  her  ?  I  think,  ma'am,  you'll  find 
she  will  do ;  and  I  reckon  to  keep  her  under  my  own 
eye  and  advice  from  morning  till  night :  for  when  I  seed 
the  girl  so  willing  to  larn,  I  quite  took  a  fancy  to  her,  I 
own — as  it  were. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Well,  Bloomsbury,  let  me  see  this  Honor 
M'Bride. 

Bloom,  (calling)  One  of  you  there !  please  call  up 
Honor  M'Bride. 

Mrs.  Carv.  She  has  been  waiting  a  great  while,  I 
fear ;  I  don't  like  to  keep  people  waiting. 

Bloom,  (watching  for  HONOR  as  she  speaks)  Dear  heart, 
ma'am,  in  this  here  country  people  does  love  waiting 
for  waiting's  sake,  that's  sure — they  got  nothing  else  to 
do.  Here,  Honor — walk  in,  Honor — rub  your  shoes 
always. 

Enter  HONOR,  timidly. 

Mrs.  Carv.  (in  an  encouraging  voice)  Come  in,  my 
good  girl. 

Bloom.  Oh !  child,  the  door :  the  peoples  never  shut 
a  door  in  Ireland ! — Did  not  I  warn  you  ? — says  I, "  Come 
when  you're  called — do  as  you're  bid — shut  the  door 
after  you,  and  you'll  never  be  chid."  Now  what  did  I 
tell  you,  child  ? 

Honor.  To  shut  the  door  after  me  when  I'd  come  into 
a  room. 

Bloom.  When  Fd  come — now  that's  not  dic'snary 
English. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Good  Bloomsbury,  let  that  pass  for  the 
present — come  a  little  nearer  to  me,  my  good  girl. 

Honor.  Yes,  ma'am. 

Bloom.  Take  care  of  that  china  pyramint  with  your 
cloak — walk  on  to  Mrs.  Carver — no  need  to  be  afraid — 
stand  your  friend. 

Mrs.  Carv.  I  should  have  thought,  Honor  M'Bride, 
you  were  in  too  comfortable  a  way  at  home  to  think 
of  going  into  service. 

Honor,  (sighs)  No  better  father,  nor  brother,  nor 
[than]  I  have,  ma'am,  I  thank  your  ladyship ;  but  some 
things  come  across. 

Mrs.  Carv.  (aside)  Oh !  it  is  a  blushing  case,  I  see : 


DRAMA.  143 

I  must  talk  to  her  alone,  by-and-by. — (Aloud)  I  don't 
mean,  my  good  girl,  to  pry  into  your  family  affairs. 

Honor.  Oh !  ma'am,  you're  too  good. — (Aside)  The 
kind-hearted  lady,  how  I  love  her  already  !  [She  wipes 
the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

Bloom.  Take  care  of  the  bow-pot  at  your  elbow, 
child ;  for  if  you  break  the  necks  of  them  moss-roses — 

Honor.  I  ax  their  pardon. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Better  take  the  flower-pot  out  of  her  way, 
Bloomsbury. 

Bloom,  (moving  the  flower-pot)  There,  now  :  but, 
Honor,  keep  your  eyes  on  my  lady ;  never  turn  your 
head,  and  keep  your  hands  always  afore  you,  as  I  show 
you.  Ma'am,  she'll  larn  manners  in  time, — Lon'on  was 
not  built  in  a  day.  It  i'n't  to  be  expected  of  she. 

Mrs.  Carv.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  indeed,  that  she 
should  learn  every  thing  at  once ;  so,  one  thing  at  a  time, 

S)od  Bloomsbury,  and  one  person  at  a  time.  Leave 
onor  to  me  for  the  present. 

Bloom.  Certainly,  ma'am ;  I  beg  pardon — I  was  only 
saying — 

Mrs.  Carv.  Since  it  is,  it  seems,  necessary,  my  good 
girl,  that  you  should  leave  home,  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
not  too  proud  to  go  into  service. 

Honor.  Oh !  into  your  service,  ma'am, — I'd  be  too 
proud  if  you'd  be  kind  enough  to  accept  me. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Then  as  to  wages,  what  do  you  expect  ? 

Honor.  Any  thing  at  all  you  please,  ma'am. 

Bloom,  (pressing  down  her  shoulder)  And  where's  your 
courtesy  1  We  shall  bring  these  Irish  knees  into  training 
by-and-by,  I  hopes. 

Honor.  I'm  awk'ard  and  strange,  ma'am — I  never  was 
from  home  afore. 

Mrs.  Carv.  Poor  girl — we  shall  agree  very  well,  I  hope. 

Honor.  Oh  yes,  any  thing  at  all,  ma'am  ;  I'm  not 
greedy — nor  needy,  thanks  above  !  but  it's  what  I'd  wish 
to  be  under  your  protection  if  it  was  plasing,  and  I'll  do 
my  very  best,  madam.  (Courtesies.) 

Mrs.  Carv.  Nobody  can  expect  more,  and  I  hope 
and  trust  you'll  find  mine  an  easy  place — Bloomsbury, 
you  will  tell  her  what  will  be  required  of  her.  (Mrs. 
CARVER  looks  at  her  watch.)  At  twelve  o'clock  I  shall 
be  returned  from  my  walk,  and  then,  Honor,  you  will 
come  into  my  cabinet  here ;  I  want  to  say  a  few  words 
to  you.  [Exeunt  omnest 


144  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

SCENE  IV. 

The  high  road — A  cottage  in  view — Turf -stack,  hay  nek,  cf-c. 
CATTY  ROONIT  alone,  walking  backwards  and  forwards. 

Catty.  'Tis  but  a  stone's  throw  to  Ballynavogue.  But 
I  don't  like  to  be  going  into  the  fair  on  foot,  when  I 
been  always  used  to  go  in  upon  my  pillion  behind 
my  husband  when  living,  and  my  son  Randal  after  his 
death.  Wait,  who  comes  here !  'Tis  Gerald  O'Bla- 
ney's,  the  distiller's  young  man,  Pat  Coxe  :  now  we'll 
larn  all — and  whether  O'Blaney  can  lend  me  the  loan 
of  a  horse  or  no.  A  good  morrow  to  you  kindly,  Mr. 
Pat  Coxe. 

Enter  PAT  COXE. 

Pal.  And  you  the  same,  Mrs.  Rooney,  tinfold.  Mr. 
O'Blaney  has  his  sarvices  to  you,  ma'am  :  no,  not  his 
sarvices,  but  his  compliments,  that  was  the  word, — his 
kind  compliments,  that  was  the  very  word. 

Catty.  The  counshillor's  always  very  kind  to  me,  and 
genteel. 

Pat.  And  was  up  till  past  two  in  the  morning,  last 
night,  madam,  he  bid  me  say,  looking  over  them  papers 
you  left  with  him  for  your  shuit,  ma'am,  with  tho 
M'Brides,  about  the  bit  of  Ballynascraw  bog ;  and  if  you 
call  upon  the  counshillor  in  the  course  of  the  morning, 
he'll  find,  or  make,  a  minute  for  a  consultation,  he  says. 
But,  manetime,  to  take  no  step  to  compromise,  or  make 
it  up,  for  your  life,  ma'am. 

Catty.  No  fear  ;  I'll  not  give  up  at  law,  or  any  way, 
to  a  M'Bride,  while  I've  a  drop  of  blood,  in  my  veins — 
and  it's  good  thick  Irish  blood  runs  in  these  veins. 

Pat.  No  doubt,  ma'am — from  the  kings  of  Ireland,  as 
all  the  world  knows,  Mrs.  Rooney. 

Catty.  And  the  M'Brides  have  no  blood  at-all-at-all. 

Pat.  Not  a  drop,  ma'am — so  they  can't  stand  before 
you. 

Catty.  They  ought  not,  any  way  ! — What  are  they  ? 
Cromwellians  at  the  best.  M'Brides!  Scotch !— not 
Irish  native  at-all-at-all.  People  of  yesterday,  graziers 


A   DRAMA.  145 

• — which,  though  they've  made  the  money,  can't  buy  the 
blood.  My  anshestors  sat  on  a  throne,  when,  the 
M'Brides  had  only  their  hunkers*  to  sit  upon ;  and  if  I 
walk  now  when  they  ride,  they  can't  look  down  upon 
me — for  everybody  knows  who  I  am — and  what  they 
are. 

Pat.  To  be  sure,  ma'am,  they  do — the  whole  country 
talks  of  nothing  else  but  the  shame  when  you'd  be  walk- 
ing and  they  riding. 

Catty.  Then  could  the  counshillor  lend  me  the 
horse  ? 

Pat.  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  ma'am,  only  every 
horse  he  has  in  the  world  is  out  o'  messages,  and  draw- 
ing turf  and  one  thing  or  another  to-day^and  he  is  very 
sorry,  ma'am. 

Catty.  So  am  I,  then — I  am  unlucky  the  day.  But 
I  won't  be  saying  so,  for  fear  of  spreading  ill-luck  on 
my  faction.  Pray,  now,  what  kind  of  a  fair  is  it  ? — 
Would  there  be  any  good  signs  of  a  fight,  Mr.  Pat 
Coxe* 

Pat.  None  in  life  as  yet,  ma'am,— only  just  buying 
and  selling.  The  horse-bastes,  and  horned  cattle,  and 
pigs  squeaking,  has  it  all  to  themselves.  But  it's  early 
times  yet, — it  won't  be  long  so. 

Catty.  No  M'Brides,  no  Ballynavogue  boys  gathering 
yet! 

Pat.  None  to  signify  of  the  M'Brides,  ma'am,  at  all. 

Catty.  Then  it's  plain  them  M'Brides  dare  not  be 
showing  their  faces,  or  even  their  backs,  in  Ballynavogue. 
But  sure  all  our  Ballynascraw  boys,  the  Rooneys,  are  in 
it,  as  usual,  I  hope  ? 

Pat.  Oh,  ma'am,  there  is  plinty  of  Rooneys.  I  marked 
Big  Briny  of  Cloon,  and  Ulick  of  Eliogarty,  and  little 
Charley  of  Killaspugbrone. 

Catty.  All  good  menf — no  better.  Praise  be  where 
due. 

Pat.  And  scarce  a  M'Bride  I  noticed.  But  the 
father  and  son — ould  Matthew  and  flourishing  Phil  was 
in  it,  with  a  new  pair  of  boots  and  the  silver-hilted 
whip. 

Catty.  The  spalpeen!  turned  into  a  buckeen,  that 
would  be  a  squireen, — but  can't. 

Pat.  No,  for  the  father  pinches  him. 

*  Their  hunkers,  i.  e.  tbeir  hams; 
t  Good  men— men  who  fight  well. 

VOL.  XVI.— G 


146  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Catty.  That's  well — and  that  ould  Matthew  is  as  ob- 
stinate a  neger  as  ever  famished  his  stomach.  What's 
he  doing  in  Ballynavogue  the  day  ? 

Pat.  Standing  he  is  there,  in  the  fair  green,  with  his 
score  of  fat  bullocks  that  he  has  got  to  sell. 

Catty.  Fat  bullocks  !  Them,  I  reckon,  will  go  to- 
wards Honor  M'Bride's  portion;  and  a  great  fortin 
she'll  be  for  a  poor  man — but  I  covet  none  of  it  for  me 
or  mine. 

Pat.  I'm  sure  of  that,  ma'am — you  would  not  demane 
yourself  to  the  likes. 

Catty.  Mark  me,  Pat  Coxe,  now — with  all  them  fat 
bullocks  at  her  back,  and  with  all  them  fresh  roses  in 
Her  cheeks — and  I  don't  say  but  she's  a  likely  girl,  if 
she  wa'n't  a  M'Bride  ;  but  with  all  that,  and  if  she  was 
the  best  spinner  in  the  three  counties — and  I  don't  say 
but  she's  good,  if  she  wa'ii't  a  M'Bride ;  but  was  she 
the  best  of  the  best,  and  the  fairest  of  the  fairest,  and 
had  she  to  boot  the  two  stockings  full  of  gould,  Honor 
M'Bride  shall  never  be  brought  home  a  daughter-in-law 
to  me.  My  pride's  up. 

Pat.  (aside)  And  I'm  instructed  to  keep  it  up. — (Aloud) 
True  for  ye,  ma'am ;  and  I  wish  that  all  had  as  much 
proper  pride  as  ought  to  be  having  it. 

Catty.  There's  maning  in  your  eye,  Pat — give  it 
tongue. 

Pat.  If  you  did  not  hear  it,  I  suppose  there's  no  truth 
in  it. 

Catty.  W halt— which ? 

Pat.  That  your  son  Randal,  Mrs.  Rooney,  is  not  of 
your  way  of  thinking  about  Honor  M'Bride,  maybe's. 

Catty.  Tut !  No  matter  what  way  of  thinking  he  is 
— a  young  slip  of  a  boy  like  him  does  not  know  what 
he'll  think  to-morrow.  He's  a  good  son  to  me  ;  and  in 
regard  to  a  wife,  one  girl  will  do  him  as  well  as  another, 
if  he  has  any  sinse— and  I'll  find  him  a  girl  that  will 
plase  him,  I'll  engage. 

Pat.  Maybe  so,  ma'am — no  fear  :  only  boys  do  like 
to  be  plasing  themselves  by  times — and  I  noticed  some- 
thing. 

Catty.  What  did  you  notice  ? — till  me,  Pat  dear,  quick. 

Pat.  No — 'tis  bad  to  be  meddling  and  remarking  to 
get  myself  ill-will ;  so  I'll  keep  myself  to  myself :  for 
Randal's  ready  enough  with  his  hand  as  you  with  the 
tongue — no  offence,  Mrs.  Rooney,  ma'am. 


A    DRAMA  147 

Catty.  Niver  fear — only  till  me  the  truth,  Pat  dear. 

Pat.  Why,  then,  to  the  best  of  my  opinion,  I  seen 
Honor  M'Bride  just  now  giving  Randal  Rooney  the  meet- 
ing behind  the  chapel ;  and  I  seen  him  putting  a  ring  on 
her  finger. 

Catty,  (clasping  her  hands)  Oh,  murder  ! — Oh !  the 
unnat'ral  monsters  that  love  makes  of  these  young  men  ; 
and  the  traitor,  to  use  me  so,  when  he  promised  he'd 
never  make  a  stolen  match  unknown's!  to  me. 

Pat.  Oh,  ma'am,  I  don't  say — I  wouldn't  swear  it's  a 
match  yet. 

Catty.  Then  I'll  run  down  and  stop  it — and  catch 
'em. 

Pat.  You  haven't  your  jock  on,  ma'am — (she  turns 
towards  the  house) — and  it's  no  use,  for  you  won't  catch 
'em  :  I  seen  them  after  turning  the  back  way  into  Nick 
Flaherty's. 

Catty.  Nick  Flaherty's,  the  publican's  T  Oh,  the  sin- 
ners !  And  this  is  the  saint  that  Honor  M'Bride  would 
be  passing  herself  upon  us  for  !  And  all  the  edication 
she  got  at  Mrs.  Carver's  Sunday-school !  Oh,  this 
comes  of  being  better  than  one's  neighbours  !  A  fine 
thing  to  tell  Mrs.  Carver,  the  English  lady,  that's  so 
nice,  and  so  partial  to  Miss  Honor  M'Bride !  Oh,  I'll 
expose  her ! 

Pat.  Oh  !  sure,  Mrs.  Rooney,  you  promised  you'd  not 
tell.  (Standing  so  as  to  stop  CATTY.) 

Catty.  Is  it  who  told  me  1  No — I  won't  mintion  a 
sintence  of  your  name.  But  let  me  by — I  won't  be  put 
off,  now  I've  got  the  scent.  I'll  hunt  'em  out,  and  drag 
her  to  shame,  if  they're  above  ground,  or  my  name's 
not  Catty  Rooney !  Mick  !  Mick  !  little  Mick !  (calling 
at  the  cottage  door)  bring  my  blue  jock  up  the  road  after 
me  to  Ballynavogue.  Don't  let  me  count  three  till 
you're  after  me,  or  I'll  bleed  ye  !  (Exit  CATTY,  shaking 
her  closed  hand,  and  repeating)  I'll  expose  Honor  M'Bride 
—I'll  expose  Honor !  I  will,  by  the  blessing ! 

Pat.  (alone)  Now,  if  Randal  Rooney  would  hear,  he'd 
make  a  jelly  of  me,  and  how  I'd  trimble :  or  the  brother, 
if  he  corned  across  me,  and  knewed.  But  they'll  niver 
know.  Oh,  Catty  won't  say  a  sintence  of  my  name, 
was  she  carded  !  No,  Catty's  a  scould,  but  has  a  con- 
science. Then  I  like  conscience  in  them  I  have  to  dale 
with  sartainly.  [Exit. 

G2 


148  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

SCENE  V. 

Mrs.  CARVER'S  Dressing-room. 
HONOR  M'BRIDK  and  Miss  BLOOMSBURY  discovered. 

Honor.  How  will  I  know,  Miss  Bloomsbury,  when  it 
will  be  twelve  o'clock  1 

Bloom.  You'll  hear  the  clock  strike :  but  I  suspect 
you'se  don't  understand  the  clock  yet — well,  you'll  hear 
the  workmen's  bell. 

Honor.  I  know,  ma'am,  oh,  I  know,  true — only  I  was 
flurried,  so  I  forgot. 

Bloom.  Flurried !  but  never  be  flurried.  Now  mind 
and  keep  your  head  upon  your  shoulders,  while  I  tell 
you  all  your  duty — you'll  just  ready  this  here  room,  your 
lady's  dressing-room ;  not  a  particaJ  of  dust  let  me 
never  find,  petticlarly  behind  the  vindor-shuts. 

Honor.  Vindor-shuts  ! — where,  ma'am  T 

Bloom.  The  shuts  of  the  vindors — did  you  never  hear 
of  a  vindor,  child  ? 

Honor.  Never,  ma'am. 

Bloom,  (pointing  to  a  window)  Don't  tell  me!  why, 
your  head  is  a  wool-gathering !  Now,  mind  me,  pray 
— see  here,  always  you  put  that  there, — and  this  here, 
and  that  upon  that — and  this  upon  this,  and  this  under 
that, — and  that  under  this — you  can  remember  that 
much,  child,  I  supposes  ? 

Honor.  I'll  do  my  endeavour,  ma'am,  to  remember 
all. 

Bloom.  But  mind,  now,  my  good  girl,  you  takes  pet- 
ticlar  care  of  this  here  pyramint  of  japanned  china — and 
very  petticlar  care  of  that  there  great  joss — and  the 
very  most  petticlarest  care  of  this  here  right  reverend 
mandolene.  (Pointing  to  and  touching  a  mandarin,  so  as 
to  make  it  shake.  HONOR  starts  back.) 

Bloom.  It  i'n't  alive.  Silly  child,  to  start  at  a  man- 
dolene shaking  his  head  and  beard  at  you.  But,  oh ! 
mercy,  if  there  i'n't  enough  to  make  him  shake  his 
head.  Stand  there  ! — stand  here ! — now  don't  you 
see! 

Honor.  Which,  ma'am  1 


A    DRAMA.  149 

Bloom.  "  Which,  ma'am  /"  you're  no  witch,  indeed,  if 
you  don't  see  a  cobweb  as  long  as  my  arm.     Run,  run, 
child,  for  the  pope's  head. 
Honor.  Pope's  head,  ma'am  1 

Bloom.  Ay,  the  pope's  head,  which  you'll  find  under 
the  stairs.  Well,  ain't  you  gone!  what  do  you  stand 
there,  like  a  stuck  pig,  for ! — Never  see  a  pope's  head  t 
— never  'ear  of  a  pope's  head  1 

Honor.  I've  heard  of  one,  ma'am — with  the  priest ; 
but  we  are  Protestants. 

Bloom.  Protestants !  what's  that  to  do !  I  do  protest, 
I  believe  that  little  head  of  yours  is  someway  got  wrong 
on  your  shoulders  to-day. 

[The  clock  strikes — HONOR,  who  is  close  to 

it,  starts. 

Bloom.  Start  again  ! — why  you're  all  starts  and  fits. 
Never  start,  child !  so  ignoramus  like !  'tis  only  the 
clock  in  your  ear, — twelve  o'clock,  hark  ! — The  bell 
will  ring  now  in  a  hurry.  Then  you  goes  in  there  to 
my  lady — stay,  you'll  never  be  able,  I  dare  for  to  say, 
for  to  open  the  door  without  me ;  for  I  opine  you  are 
not  much  usen'd  to  brass  locks  in  Hirish  cabins — can't 
be  expected.  See  here  then  !  You  turns  the  lock  in 
your  hand  this'n  ways — the  lock,  mind  now  ;  not  the  key 
nor  the  bolt  for  your  life,  child,  else  you'd  bolt  your 
lady  in,  and  there'd  be  my  lady  in  Lob's  pound,  and 
there'd  be  a  pretty  kittle  of  fish  ! — So  you  keep,  if  you 
can,  all  I  said  to  you  in  your  head  if  possible — and  you 
goes  in  there — and  I  goes  out  here. 

[Exit  BLOOMSBURY. 

Honor,  (courtesying)  Thank  ye,  ma'am.  Then  all  this 
time  I'm  sensible  I've  been  behaving  and  looking  little 
better  than  like  a  fool,  or  an  innocent. — But  I  hope  I 
won't  be  so  bad  when  the  lady  shall  speak  to  me. 
(The  bell  rings.)  Oh,  the  bell  summons  me  in  here. — 
(Speaks  with  her  hand  on  the  lock  of  the  door.)  The  lock's 
asy  enough — I  hope  I'll  take  courage — (sighs.) — Asier 
to  spake  before  one  nor  two,  any  way — and  asier  tin 
times  to  the  mistress  than  the  maid.  [Exit  HONOR. 


150 


LOVE   AND    LAW  : 


ACT  II. 
SCENE  I. 

GERALD  O'BLANEY'S  Counting-house. 
O'BLANEY  alone. 

Then  I  wonder  that  old  Matthew  M'Bride  is 
not  here  yet.  But  is  not  this  Pat  Coxe  coming  up 
yonder?  Ay.  "Well,  Pat,  what  success  with  Catty ! 

Enter  PAT  COXE,  panting. 

Take  breath,  man  alive — What  of  Catty] 

Pat.  Catty!  Oh,  murder!  No  time  to  be  talking 
of  Catty,  now  T  Sure  the  shupervisor's  come  to  town. 

O'Bla.  Blood ! — and  the  malt  that  has  not  paid  duty 
in  the  cellar !  Run  for  your  life  to  the  back-yard,  give 
a  whistle  to  call  all  the  boys  that's  ricking  o'  the  turf, 
away  with  'em  to  the  cellar,  out  with  every  sack  of 
malt  that's  in  it,  through  the  back-yard,  throw  all  into 
the  middle  of  the  turf-stack,  and  in  the  wink  of  an  eye 
build  up  the  rick  over  all,  snoog  (snug). 

Pat.  I'll  engage  we'll  have  it  done  in  a  crack. 

[Exit  PAT. 

O'Bla.  (calling  after  him)  Pat !  Pat  Coxe,  man ! 

Re-enter  PAT. 

Would  there  be  any  fear  of  any  o'  the  boys  informin? 
Pat.  Sooner  cut  their  ears  off !  [Exit  PAT. 

Enter  OLD  M'BRIDE,  at  the  opposite  side. 

Old  MB.  (speaking  in  a  slow  drawling  brogue)  Would 
Mr.  Gerald  O'Blaney,  the  counsellor,  be  within  ? 

O'Bla.  (quick  brogue)  Oh,  my  best  friend,  Matthew 
M'Bride,  is  it  you,  dear  ?  Then  here's  Gerald  O'Blaney, 
always  at  your  sarvice .  But  shake  hands ;  for  of  all  men 


A    DRAMA.  151 

in  Ireland,  you  are  the  man  I  was  aching  to  lay  my 
eyes  on.  And  in  the  fair  did  ye  happen  to  meet  Carvei 
of  Bob's  Fort  T 

Old  MB.  (speaking  very  slowly)  Ay,  did  I — and  he 
was  a-talking  to  me,  and  I  was  a-talking  to  him — and 
he's  a  very  good  gentleman,  Mr.  Carver  of  Bob's  Fort — 
so  he  is — and  a  gentleman  that  knows  how  things 
should  be ;  and  he  has  been  giving  of  me,  Mr.  O'Blaney, 
a  great  account  of  you,  and  how  you're  thriving  in  the 
world — and  so  as  that. 

O'Bla.  Nobody  should  know  that  better  than  Mr.  Car- 
ver of  Bob's  Fort — he  knows  all  my  affairs.  He  is  an 
undeniable  honest  gentleman,  for  whom  I  profess  the 
highest  regard. 

Old  M-B.  Why  then  he  has  a  great  opinion  of  you, 
too,  counsellor — for  he  has  been  advising  of,  and  telling 
of  me,  O'Blaney,  of  your  proposhal,  sir — and  very  sin- 
sible  I  am  of  the  honour  done  by  you  to  our  family,  sir 
— and  condescension  to  the  likes  of  us — tho',  to  be  sure, 
Honor  M'Bride,  though  she  is  my  daughter,  is  a  match 
for  any  man. 

O'Bla.  Is  a  match  for  a  prince — a  prince  ragent  even. 
So  no  more  about  condescension,  my  good  Matthew, 
for  love  livels  all  distinctions. 

Old  M'B.  That's  very  pretty  of  you  to  say  so,  sir ; 
and  I'll  repeat  it  to  Honor. 

O'Bla.  Cupid  is  the  great  livelier  after  all,  and  the 
only  democrat  daily  on  earth  I'd  bow  to — for  I  know 
you  are  no  democrat,  Mr.  M'Bride,  but  quite  and  clane 
the  contrary  way. 

Old  WB.  Quite  and  clane  and  stiff,  I  thank  my  God ; 
and  I'm  glad,  in  spite  of  the  vowel  before  your  name, 
Mr.  O'Blaney,  to  hear  you  are  of  the  same  kidney. 

O'Bla.  I'm  happy  to  find  myself  agreeable  to  you,  sir. 

Old  M^B.  But,  however  agreeable  to  me,  as  I  won't 
deny,  it  might  be,  sir,  to  see  my  girl  made  into  a  gen- 
tlewoman by  marriage,  I  must  observe  to  you — 

O'Bla.  And  I'll  keep  her  a  jaunting  car  to  ride  about 
the  country ;  and  in  another  year,  as  my  fortune's  rising, 
my  wife  should  rise  with  it  into  a  coach  of  her  own. 

Old  MB.  Oh !  if  I'd  live  to  see  my  child,  my  Honor, 
in  a  coach  of  her  own !  I'd  be  too  happy — oh,  I'd  die 
content ! 

O'Bla.  (aside)  No  fear ! — (Aloud)  And  why  should 
not  she  ride  in  her  own  coach,  Mistress  Counsellor 


152  LOVE    AND    LAW  ; 

O'Blaney,  and  look  out  of  the  windows  down  upon  the 
Rooneys,  that  have  the  insolence  to  look  up  to  her  1 

Old  M'B.  Ah  !  you  know  that  then.  That's  all  that's 
against  us,  sir,  in  this  match. 

O'Bla.  But  if  you  are  against  Randal,  no  fear. 

Old  M'B.  I  am  against  him — that  is,  against  his  fam- 
ily, and  all  his  seed,  breed,  and  generation.  But  I  would 
not  break  my  daughter's  heart  if  I  could  help  it. 

O'Bla.  Wheugh  ! — hearts  don't  break  in  these  days, 
like  china. 

Old  MB.  This  is  my  answer,  Mr.  O'Blaney,  sir :  you 
have  my  lave,  but  you  must  have  hers  too. 

O'Bla.  I  would  not  fear  to  gain  that  in  due  time,  if 
you  would  stand  my  friend  in  forbidding  her  the  sight 
of  Randal. 

Old  MB.  I  will  with  pleasure,  that—for  tho'  I  won't 
force  her  to  marry  to  plase  me,  I'll  forbid  her  to  marry 
to  displase  me ;  and  when  I've  said  it,  whatever  it  is, 
I'll  be  obeyed.  (Strikes  his  stick  on  the  ground.) 

O'Bla.  That's  all  I  ax. 

Old  MB.  But  now  what  settlement,  counshillor,  will 
you  make  on  my  girl  ? 

O'Bla.  A  hundred  a  year — I  wish  to  be  liberal — Mr. 
Carver  will  see  to  that — he  knows  all  my  affairs,  as  I 
suppose  he  was  telling  you. 

Old  MB.  He  was — I'm  satisfied,  and  I'm  at  a  word 
myself  always.  You  heard  me  name  my  girl's  portion, 
sir? 

O'Bla.  I  can't  say — I  didn't  mind — 'twas  no  object 
to  me  in  life. 

Old  MB.  (in  a  very  low  mysterious  lone,  and  slow  brogue) 
Then  five  hundred  guineas  is  some  object  to  most  men. 

O'Bla.  Certainly,  sir ;  but  not  such  an  object  as  your 
daughter  to  me :  since  we  are  got  upon  business,  how- 
ever, best  settle  all  that  out  of  the  way,  as  you  say,atonce. 
Of  the  five  hundred,  I  have  two  in  my  hands  already, 
which  you  can  make  over  to  me  with  a  stroke  of  a  pen. 
(Rising  quickly,  and  getting  pen,  ink,  and  books.) 

Old  MB.  (speaking  very  slowly)  Stay  a  bit— no  hurry 
— in  life.  In  business — 'tis  always,  most  haste,  worse 
speed. 

O'Bla.  Take  your  own  time,  my  go6d  Matthew — 111 
be  as  slow  as  you  plase — only  love's  quick. 

Old  MB.  Slow  and  sure — love  and  all — fast  bind,  fast 
find — three  and  two,  what  does  that  make  ? 


A    DRAMA.  153 

O'Bla.  It  used  to  make  five  before  I  was  in  love. 

Old  AfB.  And  will  the  same  after  you're  married  and 
dead.  What  am  I  thinking  of?  A  score  of  bullocks  I 
had  in  the  fair — half  a  score  sold  in  my  pocket,  and 
owing  half — that's  John  Dolan,  twelve  pound  tin — and 
Charley  Duffy  nine  guineas  and  thirteen  tin  pinnies  and 
a  five-penny  bit :  stay,  then,  put  that  to  the  hundred  guin- 
eas in  the  stocking  at  home. 

O'Bla.  (aside)  How  he  makes  my  mouth  water!  (Aloud) 
Maybe,  Matthew,  I  could,  that  am  used  to  it,  save  you 
the  trouble  of  counting1? 

Old  M1B.  No  trouble  in  life  to  me  ever  to  count  my 
money — only  I'll  trouble  you,  sir,  if  you  please,  to  lock 
that  door ;  bad  to  be  chinking  and  spreading  money  with 
doors  open,  for  walls  has  ears  and  eyes. 

O'Bla.  True  for  you.  (Rising,  and  going  to  lock  the 
doors.) 

[Old  M'BRIDE,  with  great  difficulty,  and  very  slowly, 
draws  out  of  his  pocket  his  bag  of  money — looking 
first  at  one  door,  and  then  at  the  other,  and  going  to  try 
whether  they  are  locked,  before  he  unties  his  bag. 

Old  M'B.  (spreads  and  counts  his  money  and  notes)  See 
me  now,  I  wrote  on  some  scrap  somewhere  591.  in  notes 
— then  hard  cash,  twinty  pounds — rolled  up  silver  and 
gould,  which  is  scarce — but  of  a  hundred  pounds  there's 
wanting  fourteen  pounds  odd,  I  think,  or  something  that 
way ;  for  Phil  and  I  had  our  breakfast  out  of  a  one- 
pound  note  of  Finlay's,  and  I  put  the  change  somewhere 
— besides  a  'riband  for  Honor,  which  make  a  deficiency 
of  fourteen  pounds  seven  shillings  and  twopence — that  s 
what's  deficient — count  it  which  way  you  will. 

O'Bla.  (going  to  sweep  the  money  off  the  table)  Oh  t 
never  mind  the  deficiency— I'll  take  it  for  a  hundred 
plump. 

Old  M*B.  (stopping  him)  Plump  me  no  plumps— I'll 
have  it  exact,  or  not  at  all— I'll  not  part  it,  so  let  me  see 
it  again. 

O'Bla.  (aside,  with  a  deep  sigh,  almost  a  groan)  Oh ! 
when  I  had  had  it  in  my  fist— almost :  but  'tis  as  hard 
to  get  money  out  of  this  man  as  blood  out  of  a  turnip ; 
and  I'll  be  lost  to-night  without  it. 

Old  M'B.  'Tis  'not  exact— and  I'm  exact :  I'll  put  tt 

all  up  again — (he  puts  it  deliberately  into  the  bag  again, 

thrusting  the  bag  into  his  pocket) — 111  make  it  up  at  home 

my  own  way,  and  send  it  in  to  you  by  Phil  in  an  hour's 

G3 


154  LOVE    AND   LAW  ; 

time ;  for  I  could  not  sleep  sound  with  so  much  in  my 
house — bad  people  about — safer  with  you  in  town.  Mr. 
Carver  says,  you  are  as  good  as  the  Bank  of  Ireland — 
there's  no  going  beyond  that.  (Buttoning  up  his  pockets.) 
So  you  may  unlock  the  doors  and  let  me  out  now — I'll 
send  Phil  with  all  to  you,  and  you'll  give  him  a  bit  of  a 
receipt  or  a  token,  that  would  do. 

O'Bla.  I  shall  give  a  receipt  by  all  means — all  regu- 
lar: short  accounts  make  long  friends.  (Unlocks  the 
door.) 

Old  MB.  True,  sir,  and  I'll  come  in  and  see  about  the 
settlements  in  the  morning,  if  Honor  is  agreeable. 

O'Bla.  1  shall  make  it  my  business  to  wait  upon  the 
young  lady  myself,  on  the  wings  of  love  ;  and  I  trust  I'll 
not  find  any  remains  of  Randal  Rooney  in  her  head. 

Old  AT B.  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  depend  on  that.  (They 
shake  hands.) 

O'Bla.  Then  fare  ye  well,  father-in-law — that's  meat 
and  drink  to  me :  would  not  ye  take  a  glass  of  wine, 
then? 

Old  APB.  Not  a  drop — not  a  drop  at  all — with  money 
about  me  :  I  must  be  in  a  hurry  home. 

O'Bla.  That's  true — so  best :  recommind  me  kindly 
to  Miss  Honor,  and  say  a  great  dale  about  my  impa- 
tience— and  I'll  be  expicting  Phil,  and  won't  shut  up  till 
he  comes  the  night. 

Old  M'R.  No,  don't ;  for  hell  be  with  you  before 
night-fall.  [Exit  M'BRIDE. 

O'Bla.  (calling)  Dan!  open  the  door,  there.  Dan! 
Joe !  open  the  door  smart  for  Mr.  M'Bride  !  (O'BLANEY 
rubbing  his  hands.)  Now  I  think  I  may  pronounce  my- 
self made  for  life;  success  to  my  parts! — and  here's 
Pat,  too.  Well,  Pat  Coxe,  what  news  of  the  thing  in 
hand? 


Pat.  Out  of  hand  clane!  that  job's  nately  done.  The 
turf-rick,  sir,  's  built  up  cliver,  with  the  malt  snug  in 
the  middle  of  its  stomach ;  so  were  the  shupervishor  a 
conjurer  even,  barring  he'd  dale  with  the  ould  one,  he'd 
never  suspict  a  sentence  of  it. 

O'Bla.  Not  he — he's  no  conjurer :  many's  the  dozen 
tricks  I  played  him  afore  now. 

Pat.  But,  counsellor,  there's  the  big  veshel  in  the 


A  DRAMA.  155 

little  passage  ;  I  got  a  hint  from  a  friend  that  the  shu- 
per  got  information  of  the  spirits  in  that  from  some 
villain. 

O'Bla.  And  do  you  think  I  don't  know  a  trick  for 
that,  too  * 

Pat .  No  doubt :  still,  counshillor,  I'm  in  dread  of  my 
life  that  that  great  big  veshel  won't  be  implied  in  a 
hurry. 

O'Bla.  Won't  it  ? — but  you'll  see  it  will,  though  ;  and 
what's  more,  them  spirits  will  turn  into  water  for  the 
shupervisor. 

Pat.  Water!  how? 

O'Bla.  Asy — the  ould  tan-pit  that's  at  the  back  of  the 
distillery. 

Pat.  I  know — what  of  it  1 

O'Bla.  A  sacret  pipe  I've  got  fixed  to  the  big  veshel, 
and  the  pipe  goes  under  the  wall  for  me  into  the  tan- 
pit,  and  a  sucker  I  have  in  the  big  veshel,  which  I  pull 
open  by  a  string  in  a  crack,  and  lets  all  off  all  clane  into 
the  tan-pit. 

Pat.  That's  capital ! — but  the  water  ? 

O'Bla.  From  the  pump,  another  pipe — and  the  girl's 
pumping  asy,  for  she's  to  wash  to-morrow,  and  knows 
nothing  about  it ;  and  so  the  big  veshel  she  fills  with 
water,  wondering  what  ails  the  water  that  it  don't 
come  ;  and  I  set  one  boy  and  another  to  help  her — and 
the  pump's  bewitched,  and  that's  all :  so  that's  settled. 

Pat.  And  cleverly.  Oh  !  counshillor,  we  are  a  match 
for  the  shuper  any  day  or  night. 

O'Bla.  For  him  and  all  his  tribe,  coursing  officers  and 
all.  I'd  desire  no  better  sport  than  to  hear  the  whole 
pack  in  full  cry  after  me,  and  I  doubling,  and  doubling, 
and  safe  at  my  form  at  last.  With  you,  Pat,  my  pre- 
cious, to  drag  the  herring  over  the  ground  previous  to 
the  hunt,  to  distract  the  scent,  and  defy  the  nose  of  the 
dogs. 

Pat.  Then  I  am  proud  to  sarve  you,  counshillor. 

O'Bla.  I  know  you  are,  and  a  very  honest  boy.  And 
what  did  you  do  for  me  with  Catty  Rooney  T 

Pat .  The  best.  Oh  !  it's  I  blarny'd  Catty  to  the  skies, 
and  then  egged  her  on,  and  aggravated  her  against  the 
M'Brides,  till  I  left  her  as  mad  as  e'er  a  one  in  Bedlam 
—up  to  any  thing !  And  full  tilt  she's  off  to  Flaherty's, 
the  publican,  in  her  blue  jock— where  she'll  not  be  long 
afore  she  kicks  up  a  quarrel,  I'll  engage ;  for  she's 


156  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

sarching  the  house  for  Honor  M'Bride,  who  is  not  in  it 
— and  giving  bad  language,  I  warrant,  to  all  the  M'Bride 
faction,  who  is  in  it,  drinking.  Oh  !  trust  Catty's  tongue 
for  breeding  a  riot !  In  half  an  hour,  111  warrant,  you'll 
have  as  fine  a  fight  in  town  as  ever  ye  seen  or  hard. 

CfBla.  That's  iligantly  done,  Pat.  But  I  hope  Ran- 
dal Rooney  is  in  it  ? 

Pat.  In  the  thick  of  it  he  is,  or  will  be.  So  I  hope 
your  honour  did  not  forgit  to  spake  to  Mr.  Carver  about 
that  little  place  for  me  ? 

CfBla.  Forgit ! — Do  I  forgit  my  own  name,  do  you 
think  ?  Sooner  forgit  that  then  my  promises. 

Pat.  Oh !  I  beg  your  honour's  pardon — I  would  not 
doubt  your  word ;  and  to  make  matters  sure,  and  to 
make  Catty  cockahoop,  I  tould  her,  and  swore  to  her, 
there  was  not  a  M'Bride  in  the  town  but  two,  and  there's 
twinty,  more  or  less. 

CfBla.  And  when  she  sees  them  twinty,  more  or  less, 
what  will  she  think  ? — Why  would  you  say  that — she 
might  find  you  out  in  a  lie  next  minute,  Mr.  Overdo  ? 
'Tis  dangerous  for  a  young  man  to  be  telling  more  lies 
fhan  is  absolutely  requisite.  The  lie  superfluous  brings 
many  an  honest  man,  and,  what's  more,  many  a  cliver 
fellow,  into  a  scrape ;  and  that's  your  great  fau't,  Pat. 

Pat.  Which,  sir  ? 

CfBla.  That,  sir.  I  don't  see  you  often  now  take  a 
glass  too  much.  But,  Pat,  I  hear  you  often  still  are  too 
apt  to  indulge  in  a  lie  too  much. 

Pat .  Lie !  Is  it  I  ? — Whin  upon  my  conscience,  I  niver 
to  my  knowledge  tould  a  lie  in  my  life,  since  I  was 
born,  excipt  it  would  be  just  to  screen  a  man,  which  is 
charity,  sure ;  or  to  screen  myself,  which  is  self-de- 
fence, sure — and  that's  lawful ;  or  to  oblige  your  honour, 
by  particular  desire,  and  that  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose. 

CfBla.  I  am  not  saying  again  all  that ;  only  (laying 
his  hand  on  PAT'S  shoulder  as  he  if  going  out)  against  an- 
other time,  all  I'm  warning  you,  young  man,  is,  you're 
too  apt  to  think  there  never  can  be  lying  enough.  Now, 
too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  good  for  nothing. 

[Exit  O'BLAWEY. 

PAT,  alone. 

Pat.  There's  what  you  may  call  the  divil  rebuking 
sin;  and  now  we  talk  of  the  like  as,  I>e  hard  my 


A   DRAMA.  157 

mudther  say,  that  he  had  need  of  a  long  spoon  that  ates 
wid  the  divil ;  so  I'll  look  to  that  in  time.  But  who's 
voice  is  that  I  hear  coming  up  stairs  T  I  don't  believe 
but  it's  Mr.  Carver ;  only  what  should  bring  him  back 
again,  I  wonder,  now!  Here  he  is,  all  out  of  breath, 
coming. 

Enter  Mr.  CARVER. 

Mr.  Cam.  Pray,  young  man,  did  you  happen  to  see — 
(panting  for  breath) — Bless  me,  I've  ridden  so  fast  back 
from  Bob's  Fort ! 

Pa*.  My  master,  sir,  Mr.  O'Blaney,  is  it*  Will  1 
run? 

Mr.  Cora.  No,  no,  stand  still  till  I  have  breath.  What 
I  want  is  a  copy  of  a  letter  I  dropped  somewhere  or 
other ;  here  I  think  it  must  have  been,  when  I  took  out 
my  handkerchief — a  copy  of  a  letter  to  his  excellency, 
of  great  consequence.  (Mr.  CARVER  sits  down  and  takes 
breath.) 

Pat.  (searching  about  with  officious  haste)  If  it's 
above  ground,  I'D.  find  it.  What's  this  1 — an  old  bill : 
that  is  not  it.  Would  it  be  this,  crumpled  up  ? — "  To 
his  Excellency  the  Lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland." 

Mr.  Can.  (snatching)  No  further,  for  your  life  ! 

Pat.  Well,  then,  I  was  lucky  I  found  it,  and  proud. 

Mr.  Carp.  And  well  you  may  be,  young  man  ;  for  I 
can  assure  you,  on  this  letter  the  fate  of  Ireland  may 
depend.  (Smoothing  the  letter  on  his  knee.) 

Pat.  I  wouldn't  doubt  it,  when  it's  a  letter  of  your  hon- 
our's ;  I  know  your  honour's  a  great  man  at  the  castle. 
And,  plase  your  honour,  I  take  this  opportunity  of  tanking 
your  honour  for  the  encouragement  I  got  about  that 
little  clerk's  place ;  and  here's  a  copy  of  my  hand- 
writing I'd  wish  to  show  your  honour,  to  see  I'm  capa- 
ble, and  a  scholard. 

Mr.  Carv.  Handwriting !  Bless  me,  young  man,  I 
have  no  time  to  look  at  your  handwriting,  sir.  With 
the  affairs  of  the  nation  on  my  shoulders,  can  you  pos- 
sibly think  T: — is  the  boy  mad  ? — that  Tve  time  to  revise 
every  poor  scholar's  copy-book  ? 

Pat.  I  humbly  beg  your  honour's  pardon,  but  it  was 
only  becaase  I'd  wish  to  show  I  was  not  quite  so  un- 
worthy to  be  under  (whin  you've  time)  your  honour's- 
protection,  as  promised. 


I 

156  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Mr.  Carv.  My  protection! — you  are  pot  under  my 
protection,  sir  :  promised  clerk's  place !  I  do  not  con- 
ceive what  you  are  aiming  at,  sir. 

Pat.  The  little  clerk's  place,  plase  your  honour,  that 
Bay  master,  Counsellor  O'Blaney,  touid  me  he  spoke 
about  to  your  honour,  and  was  recommending  me  for 
to  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  Never,  never  heard  one  syllable  about  it 
till  this  moment. 

Pat.  Oh !  murder :  but  I  expect  your  honour's  good- 
ness will — 

Mr.  Carv.  To  make  your  mind  easy,  I  promised  to 
appoint  a  young  man  to  that  place,  a  week  ago,  by 
Counsellor  O'Blaney's  special  recommendation.  So 
there  must  be  some  mistake.  [Exit  Mr.  CARVER. 

PAT,  alone. 

Pat.  Mistake  !  ay,  mistake  on  purpose.  So  he  never 
spoke  !  so  he  lied ! — my  master  that  was  praching  me ! 
And  oh,  the  dirty  lie  he  tould  me !  Now  I  can't  put  up 
with  that,  when  I  was  almost  perjuring  myself  for  him 
at  the  time.  Oh,  if  I  don't  fit  him  for  this  !  And  he  got 
the  place  given  to  another ! — then  I'll  get  him  as  well 
sarved,  and  out  of  this  place  too — seen  if  I  don't !  He 
is  cunning  enough,  but  I'm  'cuter  nor  he ;  I  have  him  in 
my  power,  so  I  have !  and  I'll  give  the  shupervisor  a 
scent  of  the  malt  in  the  turf-stack,  and  a  hint  of  the 
spirits  in  the  tan-pit ;  and  it's  I  that  will  like  to  stand 
by  innocent,  and  see  how  shrunk  O'Blaney's  double 
face  will  look  forenent  the  shupervisor,  when  all's  found 
out,  and  not  a  word  left  to  say,  but  to  pay — ruined  hand 
and  foot !  Then  that  shall  be,  and  before  nightfall.  Oh  ! 
one  good  turn  deserves  another;  in  revenge,  prompt  pay- 
ment while  you  b've !  [Exit. 


SCENE  H. 

M'BRIDE'S  Cottage. 

MATTHEW  M' BRIDE  and  HONOR.    (MATTHEW  with  a  little 
table  before  him,  at  dinner.) 

Old  MB.    (pushing  his  plate  from  him)   I'll  take  no 
more— I'm  done.  [He  sigh*. 


A   DRAMA.  159 

Honor.  Then  you  made  but  a  poor  dinner,  father,  after 
being  at  the  fair,  and  up  early,  and  all !  Take  this  bit 
from  my  hands,  father  dear. 

Old  M1B.  (turning  away  sullenly)  I'll  take  nothing 
from  you,  Honor,  but  what  I  got  already  enough,  and 
too  much  of — and  that's  ungratitude. 

Honor.  Ungratitude,  father!  then  you  don't  see  my 
heart. 

Old  MB.  I  lave  that  to  whoever  has  it,  Honor :  'tis 
enough  for  me,  I  see  what  you  do — and  that's  what  I 
go  by. 

Honor.  Oh,  me !  and  what  did  I  do  to  displase  you, 
father  T  (He  is  obstinately  silent ;  after  waiting  in  vain 
for  an  answer,  she  continues)  I  that  was  thinking  to  make 
all  happy  (aside)  but  myself  (aloud),  by  settling  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  all  that  could  vex  you,  and  to  go  to 
sarvice  to  Mrs.  Carver's.  I  thought  that  would  plase 
you,  father. 

Old  M^B.  Is  it  to  lave  me,  Honor  V  Is  it  that  you 
thought  would  plase  me,  Honor  \  to  lave  your  father 
alone  in  his  ould  age,  after  all  the  slaving  he  got  and 
was  willing  to  undergo,  while  ever  he  had  strength, 
early  and  late,  to  make  a  little  portion  for  you,  Honor ; 
you  that  I  reckoned  upon  for  the  prop  and  pride  of  my 
ould  age  ;  and  you  expect  you'd  plase  me  by  laving  me! 

Honor.  Hear  me  just  if,  pray  then,  father. 

Old  M^B.  (shaking  her  off  as  she  tries  to  caress  him) 
Go,  then ;  go  where  you  will,  and  demane  yourself  going 
into  sarvice,  rather  than  stay  with  me — go. 

Honor.  No,  I'll  not  go.  I'll  stay  then  with  you,  father 
dear ;  say  that  will  plase  you. 

Old  M?B.  (going  on  without  listening  to  her)  And  all 
for  the  love  of  this  Randal  Rooney  !  Ay,  you  may  well 
put  your  two  hands  before  your  face ;  if  you'd  any  touch 
of  natural  affection  at  all,  that  young  man  would  have 
been  the  last  of  all  others  you'd  ever  have  thought  of 
loving  or  liking  any  way. 

Honor.  Oh !  if  I  could  help  it ! 

Old  MB.  There  it  is.  This  is  the  way  the  poor 
fathers  is  always  to  be  trated.  They  to  give  all, 
daughter  and  all,  and  get  nothing  at  all,  not  their  choice 
even  of  the  man,  the  villain  that's  to  rob  'em  of  all — 
without  thanks  even;  and  of  all  the  plinty  of  bachelors 
there  are  in  the  parish  for  the  girl  that  has  money,  that 
daughter  will  go  and  pick  and  choose  out  the  very  maa 


160  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

the  father  mislikes  beyond  all  others,  and  then  it's  "  Oh ! 
if  I  could  help  it .'" — Asy  talking ! 

Honor.  But,  dear  father,  wasn't  it  more  than  talk, 
what  I  did  1 — Oh,  won't  you  listen  to  me  ? 

Old  M'B.  I'll  not  hear  ye ;  for  if  you'd  a  grain  o' 
spirit  in  your  mane  composition,  Honor,  you  would  take 
your  father's  part,  and  not  be  putting  yourself  under 
Catty's  feet — the  bad-tongued  woman,  that  hates  you, 
Honor,  like  poison. 

Honor.  If  she  does  hate  me,  it's  all  through  love  of 
her  own — 

Old  M'B.  Son — ay — that  she  thinks  too  good  for  you 
— for  you,  Honor ;  you,  the  lily  of  Lismore — that  might 
command  the  pride  of  the  country.  Oh !  Honor  dear, 
don't  be  lessening  yourself;  but  be  a  proud  girl,  as  you 
ought,  and  my  own  Honor. 

Honor.  Oh,  when  you  speak  so  kind ! 

Old  M'B.  And  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  I  said  a  cross 
word ;  for  I  know  you'll  never  think  of  him  more,  and 
no  need  to  lave  home  at  all  for  his  sake.  It  would  be 
a  shame  in  the  country,  and  what  would  Mrs.  Carver 
herself  think? 

Honor.  She  thinks  well  of  it,  then. 

Old  M'B.  Then  whatever  she  thinks,  she  sha'n't  have 
my  child  from  me !  tho'  she's  a  very  good  lady,  and  a 
very  kind  lady,  too.  But  see  now,  Honor — have  done 
with  love,  for  it's  all  foolishness  ;  and  when  you  come 
to  be  as  ould  as  I  am,  you'll  think  so  too.  The  shadows 
goes  all  one  way,  till  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  when 
that  is  past,  then  all  the  t'other  way ;  and  so  it  is  with 
love,  in  life — stay  till  the  sun  is  going  down  with  you. 

Honor.  Then  it  would  be  too  late  to  be  thinking  of 
love. 

Old  M'B.  And  too  airly  now,  and  there's  no  good  time, 
for  it's  all  folly.  I'll  ax  you,  will  love  set  the  potatoes  1 
— will  love  make  the  rent  ? — or  will  love  give  you  a 
jaunting  car  1 — as  to  my  knowledge,  another  of  your 
bachelors  would. 

Honor.  Oh,  don't  name  him,  father. 

Old  M'B.  Why  not — when  it's  his  name  that  would 
make  a  lady  of  you,  and  there'd  be  a  rise  in  life,  and  an 
honour  to  your  family?' 

Honor.  Recollect  it  was  he  that  would  have  dishon- 
oured my  family,  in  me,  if  he  could. 

Old  M'B.  But  he  repints  now ;  and  what  can  a  man  do 


A     DRAMA.  161 

but  repint,  and  offer  to  make  honourable  restitution, 
and  thinking  of  marrying,  as  now,  Honor  dear;  is 
not  that  a  condescension  of  he,  who's  a  sort  of  a  jan- 
tleman  T 

Honor.  A  sort,  indeed — a  bad  sort. 

Old  MB.  Why,  not  jantleman  born  to  be  sure. 

Honor.  Nor  bred. 

Old  M'B.  Well,  there's  many  that  way,  neither  born 
nor  bred,  but  that  does  very  well  in  the  world ;  and  think 
what  it  would  be  to  live  in  the  big  shingled  house,  in 
Ballynavogue,  with  him ! 

Honor.  I'd  rather  live  here  with  you,  father. 

Old  M^B.  Then  I  thank  you  kindly,  daughter,  for  that, 
but  so  would  not  I  for  you, — and  then  the  jaunting-car, 
or  a  coach,  in  time,  if  he  could  !  He  has  made  the  pro- 
poshal  for  you  in  form  this  day. 

Honor.  And  what  answer  from  you,  father  1 

Old  M'B.  Don't  be  looking  so  pale, — I  tould  him  he 
had  my  consint,  if  he  could  get  yours.  And,  oh  !  before 
you  speak,  Honor  dear,  think  what  it  would  be  up  and 
down  in  Ballynavogue,  and  every  other  place  in  the 
county,  assizes  days  and  all,  to  be  Mistress  Gerald 
O'Blaney ! 

Honor.  I  couldn't  but  think  very  ill  of  it,  father; 
thinking  ill,  as  I  do,  of  him.  Father  dear,  say  no  more, 
don't  be  breaking  my  heart — I'll  never  have  that  man  ; 
but  I'll  stay  happy  with  you. 

Old  MB.  Why,  then,  I'll  be  contint  with  that  same ; 
and  who  wouldn't  1 — If  it's  what  you'd  rather  stay,  and 
can  stay  contint,  Honor  dear,  I'm  only  too  happy.  (Em- 
bracing her — then  pausing.)  But  for  Randal — 

Honor.  In  what  can  you  fau't  him,  only  his  being  a 
Rooney  ] 

Old  M'B.  That's  all — but  that's  enough.  I'd  sooner 
see  you  in  your  coffin — sooner  be  at  your  wake  to-night, 
than  your  wedding  with  a  Rooney !  'Twould  kill  me. 
Come,  promise  me — I'd  trust  your  word — and  'twould 
make  me  asy  for  life,  and  I'd  die  asy,  if  you'd  promise 
never  to  have  him. 

Honor.  Never  till  you  would  consent — that's  all  I 
can  promise. 

Old  M'B.  Well,  that  same  is  a  great  ase  to  my  heart. 

Honor.  And  to  give  a  little  ase  to  mine,  father,  perhaps 
you  could  promise — 

Old  M'B.  What?— I'll  promise  nothing  at  all—I'll 


162  LOVE    AND   LAW  ; 

promise  nothing  at  all — I'll  promise  nothing  I  eouldnt 
perform. 

Honor.  But  this  you  could  perform  asy,  dear  father: 
just  hear  your  own  Honor. 

Old  APS.  (aside)  That  voice  would  wheedle  the  bird 
off  the  bush — and  when  she'd  prefar  me  to  the  jaunting- 
car,  can  I  but  listen  to  her  1 — (Aloud)  Well,  what  1 — 
if  it's  any  thing  at  all  in  rason. 

Honor.  It  is  in  rason  entirely.  It's  only,  that  if  Catty 
Rooney's — 

Old  MB.  (stopping  his  ears)  Don't  name  her. 

Honor.  But  she  might  be  brought  to  rason,  father ; 
and  if  she  should  be  brought  to  give  up  that  claim  to 
the  bit  o'  bog  of  yours,  and  when  all  differs  betwix'  the 
families  be  made  up,  then  you  would  consent. 

Old  MB.  When  Catty  Rooney's  brought  to  rason  ! 
Oh  !  go  shoe  the  goslings,  dear, — ay,  you'll  get  my  con- 
sint  then.  There's  my  hand :  I  promise  you,  I'll  never 
be  called  on  to  perform  that,  Honor  jewel. 

Honor,  (kissing  his  hand)  Then  that's  all  I'd  ask — 
nor  will  I  say  one  word  more,  but  thank  you,  father. 

Old  MB.  (putting  on  his  coat)  She's  a  good  cratur — 
sorrow  better !  sister  or  daughter.  Oh !  1  won't  forget 
that  she  prefarred  me  to  the  jaunting-car.  Phil  shall 
carry  him  a  civil  refusal.  I'll  send  off  the  money,  the 
three  hundred,  by  your  brother,  this  minute — that  will 
be  some  comfort  to  poor  O'Blaney.  [Exit  M'  BRIDE. 

Honor.  Is  not  he  a  kind  father,  then,  after  all  1 — That 
promise  he  gave  me  about  Catty,  even  such  as  it  is,  has 
ased  my  heart  wonderfully.  Oh !  it  will  all  come  right, 
and  they'll  all  be  rasonable  in  time,  even  Catty  Rooney, 
I've  great  hope ;  and  little  hope's  enough,  even  for  love 
to  live  upon.  But,  hark!  there's  my  brother  Phil 
coming.  (A  noise  heard  in  the  backhouse.)  'Tis  only  the 
cow  in  the  bier.  (A  knock  heard  at  the  door.)  No,  'tis 
a  Christian  ;  no  cow  ever  knocked  so  soft.  Stay  till  I 
open — Who's  in  it  ? 

Randal,  (from  within)  Your  own  Randal — open  quick. 

Honor.  Oh !  Randal,  is  it  you  ]     I  can't  open  the  door. 
[She  holds  the  door'— he  pushes  it  half-open. 

Randal.  Honor,  that  I  love  more  than  life,  let  me  in, 
till  I  speak  one  word  to  you,  before  you're  set  against 
me  for  ever. 

Honor.  No  danger  of  that — but  I  can't  let  you  in, 
Randal. 


A   DRAMA.  163 

Randal.  Great  danger!  Honor,  and  you  must.  See 
you  I  will,  if  I  die  for  it ! 

[He  advances,  and  she  retires  behind  the  door,  holding  it 

against  him. 

Honor.  Then  I  won't  see  you  this  month  again,  if  you 
do.  My  hand's  weak,  but  my  heart's  strong,  Randal. 

Randal.  Then  my  heart's  as  weak  as  a  child's  this 
minute.  Never  fear — don't  hold  against  me,  Honor; 
I'll  stand  where  I  am,  since  you  don't  trust  me,  nor 
love  me — and  best  so,  maybe :  I  only  wanted  to  say 
three  words  to  you. 

Honor.  I  can't  hear  you  now,  Randal. 

Randal.  Then  you'll  never  hear  me  more.  Good-by 
to  you,  Honor.  [He pulls  the  door  to,  angrily. 

Honor.  And  it's  a  wonder  as  it  was  you  didn't  meet 
my  father  as  you  came,  or  my  brother. 

Randal,  (pushing  the  door  a  little  open  again)  Your 
brother  ! — Oh,  Honor !  that's  what's  breaking  my  heart 
— (he  sighs) — that's  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you ;  and 
listen  to  me.  No  fear  of  your  father,  he's  gone  down 
the  road :  I  saw  him  as  I  come  the  short  cut,  but  he 
didn't  see  me. 

Honor.  What  of  my  brother  ] — say,  and  go. 

Randal.  Ay,  go — for  ever,  you'll  bid  me,  when  I've 
said. 

Honor.  What !  oh,  speak,  or  I'll  drop. — (She  no  longer 
holds  the  door,  but  leans  against  a  table. — RANDAL  advances^ 
and  looks  in.) 

Randal.  Don't  be  frightened  then,  dearest — it's  nothing 
in  life  but  a  fight  at  a  fair.  He's  but  little  hurted. 

Honor.  Hurted ! — and  by  who  ?  by  you,  is  it  1 — Then 
all's  over. — (RANDAL  comes  quite  in — HONOR,  putting  her 
hand  before  her  eyes.) — You  may  come  or  go,  for  I'll 
never  love  you  more. 

Randal.  I  expicted  as  much ! — But  she'll  faint ! 

Honor.  1  won't  faint :  leave  me,  Mr.  Randal. 

Randal.  Take  this  water  from  me — (holding  a  cup) — • 
it's  all  I  ask. 

Honor.  No  need.  (She  sits  down.)  But  what's  this  ? — 
(Seeing  his  hand  bound  up.) 

Randal.  A  cut  only. 

Honor.  Bleeding — stop  it.  (Turning  from  him  coldly.) 

Randal.  Then  by  this  blood — no,  not  by  this  worthless 
blood  of  mine — but  by  that  dearest  blood  that  fled  from 


164  LOVE    AND   LAW, 

your  cheeks,  and  this  minute  is  coming  back,  Honor,  I 
swear — (kneeling  to  her) 

Honor.  Say  what  you  will,  or  swear,  I  don't  hear  or 
heed  you.  And  my  father  will  come  and  find  you  there 
— and  I  don't  care. 

Randal.  I  know  you  don't,  and  I  don't  care  myself 
what  happens  me.  But  as  to  Phil,  it's  only  a  cut  in  the 
head  he  got,  that  signifies  nothing — if  he  was  not  your 
brother. 

Honor.  Once  lifted  your  hand  against  him — all's  over. 

Randal.  Honor,  I  did  not  lift  my  hand  against  him ; 
but  I  was  in  the  quarrel  with  his  faction. 

Honor.  And  this  your  promise  to  me  not  to  be  in  any 
quarrel!  No,  if  my  father  consented  to-morrow,  I'd 
nivir  have  you  now.  (Rises,  and  is  going — he  holds  her.) 

Randal.  Then  you're  wrong,  Honor:  you've  heard 
all  against  me — now  hear  what's  for  me. 

Honor.  I'll  hear  no  more — let  me  go. 

Randal.  Go  then — (he  lets  her  go,  and  turns  away  him- 
self)— and  I'm  going  before  Mr.  Carver,  who  will  hear 
me,  and  the  truth  will  appear — and  tho'  not  from  you, 
Honor,  I'll  have  justice.  [Exit  RANDAL. 

Honor.  Justice !  Oh,  worse  and  worse !  to  make  all 
public ;  and  if  once  we  go  to  law,  there's  an  end  of  love 
•~for  ever.  [Exit  HONOR. 


SCENE  III. 

O'BLANIY'S  House. 
O'BLANEY  and  CATTY  ROONEY. 

Catty.  And  didn't  ye  hear  it,  counshillor  ?  the  uproar 
in  the  town  and  the  riot  * — oh !  you'd  think  the  world 
was  throwing  out  at  windows.  See  my  jock,  all  tat- 
tered !  DidnH  ye  hear  1 

G'ffla.  How  could  I  hear,  backwards,  as  you  see,  from 
the  street,  and  given  up  to  my  business  ? 

Catty.  Business!  oh!  here  is  a  fine  business — the 
M'Brides  have  driven  all  before  them,  and  chased  the 
Rooneys  out  of  Ballynavogue.  (In  a  tone  of  deep  des- 
pair.) Oh!  Catty  Rooney!  that  ever  you'd  live  to  see 
this  day ! 

OPBla.  Then  take  this  glass  (offering  a  glass  of  lohisby) 
to  comfort  your  heart,  my  good  Mrs.  Rooney. 


A   DRAMA.  165 

'Catty.  No,  thank  you,  counshillor,  it's  past  that  even ! 
ogh !  ogh ! — oh  !  wirrastrew ! — oh !  wirrastrew,  ogh ! — 
( After  wringing  her  hands,  and  yielding  to  a  burst  of  sorrow 
and  wailing,  she  stands  up  firmly.)  Now  I've  ased  my 
heart,  I'll  do.  I've  spirit  enough  left  in  me  yet,  you'll 
see ;  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  came  to  you  for,  counsellor. 
O'Bla.  Tell  me  first,  is  Randal  Rooney  in  it,  and  is  he 
hurt? 

Catty.  He  was  in  it :  he's  not  hurt,  more  shame  for 
him  !  But,  howsomever,  he  bet  one  boy  handsomely : 
that's  my  only  comfort.  Our  faction's  all  going  full 
drive  to  swear  examinations,  and  get  justice. 

CfBla.  Very  proper — very  proper:  swear  examin- 
ations— that's  the  course,  and  only  satisfaction  in  these 
cases  to  get  justice. 

Catty.  Justice  ! — revenge  sure !  O,  revenge  is  sweet, 
and  I'll  have  it.  Counsellor  dear,  I  never  went  before 
Mr.  Carver — you  know  him,  sir — what  sort  is  he  ? 

O'Bla.  A  mighty  good  sort  of  gentleman — only  mighty 
tiresome. 

Catty.  Ay,  that's  what  I  hard — that  he  is  mighty 
fond  of  talking  to  people  for  their  good.  Now  that's 
what  I  dread,  for  I  can't  stand  being  talked  to  for  my 
good. 

CfBla.  'Tis  little  use,  I  confess.  We  Irish  is  wonder- 
ful soon  tired  of  goodness,  if  there's  no  spice  of  fun 
along  with  it ;  and  poor  Carver's  soft,  and  between  you 
and  I,  he's  a  little  bothered  ;  but,  Mrs.  Rooney,  you  won't 
repate  1 

Catty.  Repate  ! — I !  I'm  neither  watch  nor  repater — I 
scorn  both  ;  and  between  you  and  I,  since  you  say  so, 
counshillor,  that's  my  chiefest  objection  to  Carver,  whom 
I  wouldn't  know  from  Adam,  except  by  reputation.  But 
it's  the  report  of  the  country,  that  he  has  common  in- 
formers in  his  pay  and  favour ;  now  that's  mane,  and  I 
don't  like  it. 

O'Bla.  Nor  I,  Mrs.  Rooney.  I  had  experience  of  in- 
formers in  the  distillery  line  once.  The  worst  varmin 
that  is  ever  encouraged  in  any  house  or  country.  The 
very  mintion  of  them  makes  me  creep  all  over  still. 

Catty.  Then  'tis  Carver,  they  say,  that  has  the  oil  of 
Rhodium  for  them  ;  for  they  follow  and  fawn  on  him, 
like  rats  on  the  rat-catcher — of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  he 
has  'em.  They  say,  he  sets  them  over  and  after  one 
another ;  and  has  lotions  of  them  that  he  lets  out  on  the 


166  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

craturs'  cabins,  to  larn  how  many  grains  of  salt  every 
man  takes  with  his  little  prates,  and  bring  information 
if  a  straw  would  be  stirring. 

O'Bla.  Ay,  and  if  it  would,  then  it's  Carver  that  would 
quake  like  the  aspin  leaf — I  know  that.  It's  no  malice 
at  all  in  him  ;  only  just  he's  a  mighty  great  poltroon. 

Catty.  Is  that  all  *  Then  I'd  pity  and  laugh  at  him, 
and  I  go  to  him  preferably  to  any  other  magistrate. 

O'Bla.  You  may,  Mrs.  Rooney — for  it's  in  terror  of 
his  life  he  lives,  continually  draming  day  and  night,  and 
croaking  of  carders  and  thrashers,  and  oak  boys,  and 
white  boys,  and  peep-o'-day  boys,  and  united  boys,  and 
riband  men,  and  men  and  boys  of  all  sorts  that  have,  and 
that  have  not,  been  up  and  down  the  country  since  the 
rebellion. 

Catty.  The  poor  cratur !  But  in  case  he'd  prove  re- 
fractory, and  would  not  take  my  examinations,  can't  I 
persecute  my  shute  again  the  M'Brides  for  the  bit  of  the 
bog  of  Ballynascraw,  counshillor  ? — Can't  I  harash  'em 
at  law  ? 

O'Bla.  You  can,  ma'am,  harash  them  properly.  I've 
looked  over  your  papers,  and  I'm  happy  to  tell  you,  you 
may  go  on  at  law  as  soon  and  as  long  as  you  plase. 

Catty,  (speaking  very  rapidly)  Bless  you  for  that  word, 
counshillor;  and  by  the  first  light  to-morrow,  I'll  drive 
all  the  grazing  cattle,  every  four-footed  baast  off  the  land, 
and  pound  'em  in  Ballynavogue ;  and  if  they  replevy,  why 
I'll  distrain  again,  if  it  be  forty  times,  I  will  go.  I'll  go  on 
distraining,  and  I'll  advertise,  and  I'll  cant,  and  I'll  sell  the 
distress  at  the  end  of  eight  days.  And  if  they  dare  for 
to  go  for  to  pot  a  plough  in  that  bit  of  reclaimed  bog, 
I'll  come  down  upon  'em  with  an  injunction,  and  I  would 
not  value  the  expinse  of  bringing  down  a  record  a  pin's 
pint ;  and  if  that  went  again  me,  I'd  remove  it  to  the 
courts  above  and  wilcome ;  and  after  that,  I'd  go  into 
equity,  and  if  the  chancillor  would  not  be  my  friend,  I'd 
take  it  over  to  the  House  of  Lords  in  London,  so  I  would 
as  soon  as  look  at  'em ;  for  I'd  wear  my  feet  to  the  knees 
for  justice — so  I  would. 

O'Bla.  That  you  would  !  You're  an  elegant  lawyer, 
Mrs.  Rooney ;  but  have  you  the  sinews  of  war  1 

Catty.  Is  it  money,  dear? — I  have,  and  while  ever 
I've  one  shilling  to  throw  down  to  ould  Matthew 
M'Bride's  guinea,  I'll  go  on;  and  every  guinea  he 
parts  will  twinge  his  vitals  :  so  I'll  keep  on  while  ever 


A    DRAMA.  167 

I've  a  fiv'-penny  bit  to  rub  on  another — for  my  spirit 
is  up. 

O'Bla.  Ay,  ay,  so  you  say.  Catty,  my  dear,  your 
back's  asy  up,  but  it's  asy  down  again. 

Catty.  Not  when  I've  been  trod  on  as  now,  counshil- 
lor :  it's  then  I'd  turn  and  fly  at  a  body,  gentle  or  simple, 
like  mad. 

O'Bla.  Well  done,  Catty  (patting  her  on  the  lack). 
There's  my  own  pet  mad  cat — and  there's  a  legal  venom 
in  her  claws,  that  every  scratch  they'll  give  shall  fester 
so  no  plaster  in  law  can  heal  it. 

Catty.  Oh,  counshillor,  now,  if  you  wouldn't  be  flat- 
tering a  wake  woman. 

O'Bla.  Wake  woman  ! — not  a  bit  of  woman's  wake- 
ness  in  ye.  Oh,  my  cat-o'-cats !  let  any  man  throw  her 
from  him,  which  way  he  will,  she's  on  her  legs  and  at 
him  again,  tooth  and  claw. 

Catty.  With  nine  lives,  renewable  for  ever. 

[Exit  CATTY. 

O'Bla.  (alone)  There's  a  demon  in  woman's  form  set 
to  work  for  me !  Oh,  this  works  well — and  no  fear  that 
the  Rooneys  and  M'Brides  should  ever  come  to  an  un- 
derstanding to  cut  me  out.  Young  Mr.  Randal  Rooney, 
my  humble  compliments  to  you,  and  I  hope  you'll  be- 
come the  willow  which  you'll  soon  have  to  wear  for 
Miss  Honor  M'Bride's  pretty  sake.  But  I  wonder 
the  brother  a'n't  come  up  yet  with  the  rist  of  her  for- 
tune. (Calls  behind  the  scenes.)  Mick  !  Jack  !  Jenny  ! 
Where's  Pat  ] — Then  why  don't  you  know  1  run  down 
a  piece  of  the  road  towards  Ballynascraw,  see  would 
you  see  anybody  coming,  and  bring  me  word  would  you 
see  Phil  M'Bride — you  know,  flourishing  Phil.  Now 
I'm  prepared  every  way  for  the  shupervishor,  only  I 
wish  to  have  something  genteel  in  my  fist  for  him,  and 
a  show  of  cash  flying  about — nothing  like  it,  to  dazzle 
the  eyes.  [Exit  O'BLANEV, 


168  LOVE   AMD    LAW  \ 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. 

An  Apartment  in  Mr.  CARTER'S  House.  Mr.  CARVER  seated : 
a  table,  pens,  ink,  paper,  and  law-books. — A  Clerk,  pen  in 
hand. — On  the  right-hand  side  of  Mr.  CARVER  stands 
Mrs.  CATTY  ROONEY. — RANDAL  ROONET  beside  her,  lean- 
ing against  a  pillar,  his  arms  folded. — Behind  Mrs. 
RODNEY,  three  men — one  remarkably  tall,  one  remarkably 
little. — On  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  CARVER  stands  Old  MAT- 
THEW M'BRIDE,  leaning  on  his  stick  ;  beside  him  PHILIP 
M'BRIDE,  with  his  silver-hilled  whip  in  his  hand. — A  Con- 
stable at  some  distance  behind  Mr.  CARVER'S  chair. — Mr. 
CARVER  looking  over  and  placing  his  books,  and  seeming 
to  speak  to  his  clerk. 

Catty,  (aside  to  her  son)  See  I'll  take  it  asy,  and  be 
very  shivel  and  sweet  wid  him,  till  I'll  see  which  side 
hell  lane,  and  how  it  wiH  go  wit  hus  Rooneys — (Mr. 
CARVER  rising,  leans  forward  with  both  his  hands  on  the 
table,  as  if  going  to  speak,  looks  round,  and  clears  his  throat 
loudly.) — Will  I  spake  now,  plase  your  honour? 

Old  Af'J5.  Dacency,  when  you  see  his  honour  pre- 
paring his  throat. 

[Mr.  CARVER  clears  his  throat  again. 

Catty,  (courtesying  between  each  sentence)  Then  I  ixpect 
his  honour  will  do  me  justice.  I  got  a  great  character 
of  his  honour.  I'd  sooner  come  before  your  honour  than 
any  jantleman  in  all  Ireland.  I'm  sure  your  honour  will 
stand  my  j rind. 

Clerk.  Silence! 

Mr.  Can.  Misguided  people  of  Ballynavogue  and 
Ballynascraw — 

[At  the  instant  Mr.  CARVER  pronounces  the  word  "  Bally- 
navogue," CATTY  courtesies,  and  all  the  ROONEYS  be- 
hind her  bow  and  answer — 

Here,  plase  your  honour. 

[And  when  Mr.  CARVER  says  "Ballynascraw,"  all  the 
M'BRIDES  bow,  and  reply — 

Here,  plase  your  honour. 


A   DRAMA.  169 

Mr.  Carv.  (speaking  with  pomposity,  but  embarrassment, 
and  clearing  his  throat  frequently)  When  I  consider  and 
look  round  me,  gentlemen,  and  when  1  look  round  me 
and  consider,  how  long  a  period  of  time  I  have  had  the 
honour  to  bear  his  majesty's  commission  of  the  peace 
for  this  county — 

Catty,  (courtesying)  Your  honour's  a  good  warrant, 
no  doubt. 

Mr.  Carv.  Hem  ! — hem  ! — also  being  a  residentiary 
gentleman  at  Bob's  Fort — hem ! — hem ! — hem! — (Coughs 
and  blows  his  nose.) 

Catty,  (aside  to  her  son)  Choking  the  cratur  is  with  the 
words  he  can't  get  out.  (Aloud)  Will  1  spake  now,  plase 
your  honour  ? 

Clerk.  Silence !  silence ! 

Mr.  Carv.  And  when  I  consider  all  the  ineffectual 
attempts  1  have  made  by  eloquence  and  otherwise,  to 
moralize  and  civilize  you,  gentlemen,  and  to  eradicate 
all  your  heterogeneous  or  rebellious  passions — 

Catty.  Not  a  rebel,  good  or  bad,  among  us,  plase  your 
honour. 

Clerk.  Silence! 

Mr.  Carv.  I  say,  my  good  people  of  Ballynavogue  and 
Ballynascraw,  I  stand  here  really  in  unspeakable  con- 
cern and  astonishment,  to  notice  at  this  fair  time  in  my 
barony,  these  symptoms  of  a  riot,  gentlemen,  and  fea- 
tures of  a  tumult. 

Catty.  True,  your  honour,  see — scarce  a  symptom  of 
a  fature  lift  in  the  face  here  of  little  Charley  of  Killas- 
pugbrone,  with  the  b'ating  he  got  from  them  M'Brides, 
who  bred  the  riot,  entirely  under  Flourishing  Phil,  plase 
your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  (turning toPmLM'BRiDE)  Mr.  Philip  M'Bride, 
son  of  old  Matthew,  quite  a  substantial  man, — I  am  really 
concerned,  Philip,  to  see  you,  whom  I  looked  upon  as  a 
sort  of,  I  had  almost  said,  gentleman — 

Catty.  Gentleman !  what  sort  ?  Is  it  because  of  the 
new-topped  boots,  or  by  virtue  of  the  silver-topped  whip, 
and  the  bit  of  a  red  rag  tied  about  the  throat  1 — Then  a 
gentleman's  asy  made,  now-a-days. 

Young  M'B.  It  seems  'tis  not  so  asy  any  way,  now-a- 
days,  to  make  a  gentlewoman,  Mrs.  Rooney. 

Catty,  (springing  forward  angrily)  And  is  it  me  you 
mane,  young  man  1 

Randal.  Oh !  mother,  dear,  don't  be  aggravating. 

VOL.  XVI.— H 


170  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Mr.  Carv.  Clerk,  why  don't  you  maintain  silence  ? 
Catty,  (pressing  before  her  son)  Stand  back,  then,  Randal 
Rooney— -don't  you  hear  silence  ? — don't  be  brawling  be- 
fore his  honour.  Go  back  wid  yourself  to  your  pillar, 
or  post,  and  fould  your  arms,  and  stand  like  a  fool  that's 
In  love,  as  you  are. — I  beg  your  honour's  pardon,  but 
he's  my  son,  and  I  can't  help  it. — But  about  our  examin- 
ations, plase  your  honour,  we're  all  come  to  swear — 
here's  myself,  and  little  Charley  of  Killaspugbrone,  and 
big  Briny  of  Cloon,  and  Ulick  of  Eliogarty — all  ready  to 
swear. 

Mr.  Carv.  But  have  these  gentlemen  no  tongues  of 
their  own,  madam  1 

Catty.  No,  plase  your  honour,  little  Charley  has  no 
English  tongue  ;  he  has  none  but  the  native  Irish. 

Mr.  Carv.  Clerk,  make  out  their  examinations,  with  a 
translation  ;  and  interpret  for  Killaspugbrone. 

Catty.  Plase  your  honour,  I  being  the  lady,  expicted 
I'd  get  lave  to  swear  first. 

Mr.  Carv.  And  what  would  you  swear,  madam,  if  you 
got  leave,  pray  ? — be  careful,  now. 

Catty.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  out  o'  the  face,  plase 
your  honour.  The  whole  Rooney  faction — 

Mr.  Carv.  Faction ! — No  such  word  in  my  presence, 
madam. 

Catty.  Oh,  but  I'm  ready  to  swear  to  it,  plase  your 
honour,  in  or  out  of  the  presence :  the  whole  Rooney 
faction — every  Rooney,  big  or  little,  that  was  in  it,  was 
bet,  and  banished  the  town  and  fair  of  Ballynavogue,  for 
no  rason  in  life,  by  them  M'Brides  there,  them  scum  o' 
the  earth. 

Mr.  Carv.  Gently,  gently,  my  good  lady;  no  such 
thing  in  my  presence  as  scum  o'  the  earth. 

Catty.  Well,  Scotchmen,  if  your  honour  prefars.  But 
before  a  Scotchman,  myself  would  prefar  the  poorest 
spalpeen — barring  it  be  Phil,  the  buckeen — I  ax  pardon 
(courtesying),  if  a  buckeen's  the  more  honourable. 

Mr.  Carv.  Irrelevant  in  toto,  madam;  for  buckeens 
and  spalpeens  are  manners  or  species  of  men  unknown 
to  or  not  cognizable  by  the  eye  of  the  law  ;  against  them, 
therefore,  you  cannot  swear :  but  if  you  have  any  thiner 
against  Philip  M'Bride— 

Catty.  Oh,  I  have  plinty,  and  will  swear,  plase  your 
honour,  that  he  put  me  in  bodily  fear,  and  tore  my  jock, 
my  blue  jock,  to  tatters.  Oh,  by  the  vartue  of  this  book 


A    DRAMA.  171 

{snatching  up  a  book),  and  all  the  books  that  ever  were 
shut  or  opened,  I'll  swear  to  the  damage  of  five  pounds, 
be  the  same  more  or  less. 

Mr.  Carv.  My  good  lady,  more  or  less  will  never  do. 

Catty.  Forty  shillings,  any  way,  I'll  swear  to ;  and 
that's  a  felony,  your  honour,  I  hope  1 

Mr.  Carv.  Take  time,  and  consult  your  conscience 
conscientiously,  my  good  lady,  while  I  swear  these  other 
men — 

[She  examines  the  coat,  holding  it  up  to  view — Mr.  CAR- 
VER beckons  to  the  Rooney  party. 

Mr.  Carv.  Beaten  men !  come  forward. 

Big  Briny.  Not  beaten,  plase  your  honour,  only  bet. 

Ulick  o/Eliogarty.  Only  black  eyes,  plase  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  You,  Mr.  Charley  or  Charles  Rooney,  of 
Killaspugbrone  ;  you  have  read  these  examinations,  and 
are  you  scrupulously  ready  to  swear? 

Catty.  He  is,  and  will,  plase  your  honour  ;  only  he's 
the  boy  that  has  got  no  English  tongue. 

Mr.  Carv.  I  wish  you  had  none,  madam,  ha!  ha!  ha! 
(The  two  M'BRIDES  laugh — the  ROONEYS  look  grave.)  You, 
Ulick  Rooney,  of  Eliogarty,  are  these  your  examinations'? 

Catty.  He  can't  write,  nor  rade  writing  from  his  cra- 
dle, plase  your  honour  ;  but  can  make  his  mark  equal  to 
another,  sir.  It  has  been  read  to  him  any  way,  sir,  plase 
your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  And  you,  sir,  who  style  yourself  big  Briny 
of  Cloon — you  think  yourself  a  great  man,  1  suppose  1 

Catly.  It's  what  many  does  that  has  got  less  rason, 
plase  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  Understand,  my  honest  friend,  that  there  is 
a  vast  difference  between  looking  big  and  being  great. 

Big  Briny.  I  see — I  know,  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  Now,  gentlemen,  all  of  you,  before  I  hand 
you  the  book  to  swear  these  examinations,  there  is  one 
thing  of  which  I  must  warn  and  apprize  you  —that  I  am 
most  remarkably  clear-sighted ;  consequently  there  can 
be  no  thumb-kissing  with  me,  gentlemen. 

Big  Briny.  We'll  not  ax  it,  plase  your  honour. 

Catty.  No  Rooney,  living  or  dead,  was  ever  guilty  or 
taxed  with  the  like!  (Aside  to  her  son.)  Oh,  they'll 
swear  iligant !  We'll  flog  the  world,  and  have  it  all  our 
own  way !  Oh,  I  knew  we'd  get  justice — or  I'd  know 
why.  v 

H2> 


172  LOVE   AND   LAW  ; 

Clerk.  Here's  the  book,  sir,  to  swear  complainants.   * 
[Mr.  CARVER  comes  forward. 

Mr.  Cam.  Wait — wait ;  I  must  hear  both  sides. 

Catty.  Both  sides!  Oh,  plase  your  honour,  only  bother 
you. 

Mr.  Carv.  Madam,  it  is  my  duty  to  have  ears  for  all 
men — Mr.  Philip,  now  for  your  defence. 

Catty.  He  has  none  in  nature,  plase  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  Madam,  you  have  had  my  ear  long  enough 
— be  silent,  at  your  peril. 

Catty.  Ogh — ogh  ! — silent !          [She  groans  piteously. 

Mr.  Carv.  Sir,  your  defence,  without  any  preamble  or 
preambulation. 

Phil.  I've  no  defence  to  make,  plase  your  honour,  but 
that  I'm  innocent. 

Mr.  Carv.  (shaking  his  head)  The  worst  defence  in  law, 
my  good  friend,  unless  you've  witnesses. 

Phil.  All  present  that  time  in  the  fair  was  too  busy 
fighting  for  themselves  to  witness  for  me  that  I  was 
not ;  except  I'd  call  upon  one  that  would  clear  me  en- 
tirely, which  is  that  there  young  man  on  the  opposite 
side. 

Catty.  Oh,  the  impudent  fellow !    Is  it  my  son  1 

Old  MB.  Is  it  Randal  Rooney  *  Why,  Phil,  are  you 
turned  innocent  ? 

Phil.  I  am  not,  father,  at  all.  But  with  your  lave,  I 
call  on  Randal  Rooney,  for  he  is  an  undeniable  honour- 
able man — I  refer  all  to  his  evidence. 

Randal.  Thank  you,  Phil.  I'll  witness  the  truth,  on 
whatever  side. 

Catty  rushes  in  between  them,  exclaiming,  in  a  tremen- 
dous tone,  If  you  do,  Catty  Rooney's  curse  be  upon — 

Randal  stops  her  mouth,  and  struggles  to  hold  his  mother 
back.  Oh,  mother,  you  couldn't  curse. 

[All  the  ROONEYS  get  about  her  and  exclaim, 

Oh,  Catty,  your  son  you  couldn't  curse  ! 

Mr.  Carv.  Silence,  and  let  me  be  heard.  Leave  this 
lady  to  me ;  I  know  how  to  manage  these  feminine  vix- 
ens. Mrs.  Catherine  Rooney,  listen  to  me — you  are  a 
reasonable  woman. 

Catty.  I  am  not,  nor  don't  pretend  to  it,  plase  your 
honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  But  you  can  hear  reason,  madam,  I  pre- 
sume, from  the  voice  of  authority. 


A    DRAMA.  173 

••    Catty.  No,  plase  your  honour — I'm  deaf,  stone  deaf. 

Mr.  Carv.  No  trifling  with  me,  madam ;  give  me  leave 
to  advise  you  a  little  for  your  good. 

Catty.  Plase  your  honour,  it's  of  no  use — from  a  child 
Up  I  never  could  stand  to  be  advised  for  my  good.  See, 
I'd  get  hot  and  hotter,  plase  your  honour,  till  I'd  bounce ! 
I'd  fly !  I'd  burst !  and  myself  does  not  know  what  mis- 
chief 1  mightn't  do. 

Mr.  Carv.  Constable !  take  charge  of  this  cursing  and 
cursed  woman,  who  has  not  respect  for  man  or  magis- 
trate. Away  with  her  out  of  my  presence  ! — I  commit 
her  for  a  contempt. 

Randal,  (eagerly}  Oh !  plase  your  honour,  I  beg  your 
honour's  pardon  for  her — my  mother — entirely.  When 
she  is  in  her  reason,  she  has  the  greatest  respect  for  the 
whole  bench,  and  your  honour  above  all.  Oh !  your 
honour,  be  plasing  this  once  !  Excuse  her,  and  I'll  go 
bail  for  her  she  won't  say  another  word  till  she'd  get  the 
nod  from  your  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  On  that  condition,  and  on  that  condition 
only,  I  am  willing  to  pass  over  the  past.  Fall  back, 
constable. 

Catty,  (aside)  Why  then,  Gerald  O'Blaney  mislet  me. 
This  Carver  is  a  fauterer  of  the  Scotch.  Bad  luck  to 
every  bone  in  his  body !  (As  CATTY  says  this  her  son 
draws  her  back,  and  tries  to  pacify  her.) 

Mr.  Carv.  Is  she  muttering,  constable  1 

Randal.  Not  a  word,  plase  you  honour,  only  just  tell- 
ing herself  to  be  quiet.  Oh,  mother,  dearest,  I'll  kneel 
to  plase  you. 

Catty.  Kneel !  oh,  to  an  ould  woman  like  me — no 
standing  that !  So  here,  on  my  hunkers  I  am,  for  your 
sake,  Randal,  and  not  a  word,  good  or  bad !  Can  woman 
do  more  ?  (She  sits  with  her  fingers  on  her  lips.) 

Mr.  Carv.  Now  for  your  defence,  Philip:  be  short,  for 
mercy's  sake  !  (pulling  out  his  watch.) 

Phil.  Not  to  be  detaining  your  honour  too  long — I  was 
in  Ballynavogue  this  forenoon,  and  was  just — that  is, 
Miss  Carline  Flaherty  was  just — 

Mr.  Carv.  Miss  Caroline  Flaherty !  What  in  nature 
can  she  have  to  do  with  the  business  1 

Phil.  Only  axing  me,  sir,  she  was,  to  play  the  flageo- 
lets, which  was  the  rason  I  was  sitting  at  Flaherty's. 

Mr.  Carv.  Address  yourself  to  the  court,  young  man. 

Phil.  Sitting  at  Flaherty's — in  the  parlour,  with  the 


174  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

door  open,  and  all  the  M'Brides  which  was  in  it  was  in 
the  outer  room  taking  a  toombler  o'  punch  I  trated  'em 
to — but  not  drinking — not  a  man  out  o1  the  way~- when 
in  comes  that  gentlewoman.  (Pointing  to  Mrs.  ROONEY. 
RANDAL  groans.)  Never  fear,  Randal,  I'll  tell  it  as  soft 
as  I  can. 

Old  M'B.  Soft,  why  ?  Mighty  soft  cratur  ever  since 
he  was  born,  plase  your  honour,  though  he's  my  son. 

Mr.  Carv.  (putting  his  finger  on  his  lips)  Friend  Mat- 
thew, no  reflections  in  a  court  of  justice  ever.  Go  on 
Philip. 

Phil.  So  some  one  having  tould  Mrs.  Rooney  lies,  as 
I'm  confident,  sir — for  she  came  in  quite  mad,  and  abused 
my  sister  Honor ;  accusing  her,  before  all,  of  being  sit- 
ting and  giving  her  company  to  Randal  Rooney  at  Flah- 
erty's, drinking,  and  something  about  a  ring,  and  a  meet- 
ing behind  the  chapel,  which  I  couldn't  understand  ;  but 
it  fired  me,  and  I  stepped — but  I  recollected  I'd  promised 
Honor  not  to  let  her  provoke  me  to  lift  a  hand  good  or 
bad — so  I  stepped  across  very  civil,  and  I  said  to  her, 
says  I,  ma'am,  it's  all  lies — some  one  has  been  belying 
Honor  M'Bride  to  you,  Mrs.  Rooney. 

[CATTY  sighs  and  groans,  striking  the  back  of  one  hand 
reiteratedly  into  the  palm  of  the  other — rises — beats  the 
devil's  tattoo  as  she  stands — then  clasps  her  hands 
again. 

Mr.  Carv.  That  woman  has  certainly  more  ways  of 
making  a  noise,  without  speaking,  than  any  woman 
upon  earth.  Proceed,  Philip. 

Phil.  Depind  on  it,  it's  all  lies,  Mrs.  Rooney,  says  I, 
ma'am.  No,  but  you  lie,  Flourishing  Phil,  says  she. 
With  that  every  M'Bride,  to  a  man,  rises  from  the  table, 
catching  up  chairs  and  stools  and  toomblers  and  jugs, 
to  revenge  Honor  and  me.  Not  for  your  life,  boys, 
don't  let-drier  ne'er  a  one  of  yees,  says  I — she's  a 
woman,  and  a  widow  woman,  and  only  a  scould  from 
her  birth :  so  they  held  their  hands ;  but  she  giving 
tongue  bitter,  'twas  hard  for  flesh  and  blood  to  stand  it. 
Now,  for  the  love  of  heaven  and  me,  sit  down  all,  and 
be  quite  as  lambs,  and  finish  your  poonch  like  gentle- 
men, sir,  says  I :  so  saying,  1  tuk  Mrs.  Rooney  up  in 
my  arms  tenderly,  as  1  would  a  bould  child — she 
screeching  and  screeching  like  mad  : — whereupon  her 
jock  caught  on  the  chair,  pocket-hole  or  something,  and 
give  one  rent  from  head  iofut — and  that  was  the  tatter- 


A.   DRAMA.  175 

ing  of  the  jock.  So  we  got  her  to  the  door,  and  there 
she  spying  her  son  by  ill-luck  in  the  street,  directly 
stretches  out  her  arms,  and  kicking  my  shins,  plase 
your  honour,  till  I  could  not  hold  her,  "  Murder !  Randal 
Rooney,"  cries  she,  "  and  will  you  see  your  own  mo- 
ther murdered  T' 

Randal.  Them  were  the  very  words,  I  acknowledge, 
she  used,  which  put  me  past  my  rason,  no  doubt. 

Phil.  Then  Randal  Rooney,  being  past  his  rason, 
turns  to  all  them  Rooneys  that  were  in  no  condition. 

Mr.  Carv.  That  were  what  we  in  English  would  call 
drunk,  I  presume  ] 

Randal.  Something  very  near  it,  plase  your  honour. 
Phil.  Sitting  on  the  bench  outside  the  door  they 
were,  when  Randal  came  up.  "  Up,  Rooneys,  and  at 
'em  !"  cried  he ;  and  up,  to  be  sure,  they  flew,  shillelahs 
and  all,  like  lightning,  daling  blows  on  all  of  us  M'Brides : 
but  I  never  lifted  a  hand ;  and  Randal,  I'll  do  him  jus- 
tice, avoided  to  lift  a  hand  against  me. 

Randal.  And  while  I  live  I'll  never  forget  that 
hour,  nor  this  hour,  Phil,  and  all  your  generous  con- 
struction. . 

Catty,  (aside)  Why  then  it  almost  softens  me  ;  but  I 
won't  be  made  a  fool  on. 

Mr.  Carv.  (who  has  been  reconsidering  the  examinations) 
It  appears  to  me  that  you,  Mr.  Philip  M'Bride,  did,  as 
the  law  allows,  only  lay  hands  softly  upon  complainant, 
Catherine  Rooney  ;  and  the  Rooneys,  as  it  appears, 
struck,  and  did  strike,  the  first  blow. 

Randal.  I  can't  deny,  plase  your  honour,  we  did. 
Mr. Carv.  (tearing  the  examinations}  Then,  gentlemen, 
— you,  Rooneys — beaten  men,  1  cannot  possibly  take 
your  examinations. 

[When  the  examinations  are  torn,  the  M'BRIDES  all  bow, 

and  thank  his  honour. 

Mr.  Carv.  Beaten  men  !  depart  in  peace. 
[The  ROONEYS  sigh  and  groan,  and  after  turning  their 
hats  several  times,  bow,  walk  a  few  steps  away,  return, 
and  seem  loath  to  depart.  CATTY  springs  forward, 
holding  up  her  hands  joined  in  a  supplicating  attitude 
to  Mr.  CARVER. 

Randal.  If  your  honour  would  be  plasing  to  let  her 
spake  now,  or  she'd  burst,  maybe. 

Mr.  Carv.  Speak  now,  woman,  and  ever  after  hold 
your  tongue. 


176  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Catty.  Then  I  am  rasonable  now,  plase  your  honour ; 
for  I'll  put  it  to  the  test — see,  I'll  withdraw  my  exami- 
nations entirely,  and  I'll  recant — and  I'll  go  further,  I'll 
own  I'm  wrong — (though  I  know  I'm  right) — and  I'll  beg 
your  pardon,  M'Brides,  if — (but  I  know  I'll  not  have  to 
beg  your  pardon  either) — but  I  say  I  will  beg  your  par- 
don, M'Brides,  if,  mind  if,  you  will  accept  my  test,  and 
it  fails  me. 

Mr.  Carv.  Very  fair,  Mrs.  Rooney. 
Old  MB.  What  is  it  she's  saying? 
Phil.  What  test,  Mrs.  Rooney  ? 
Randal.  Dear  mother,  name  your  test. 
Catty.  Let  Honor  M'Bride  be  summoned,  and  if  she 
can  prove  she  took  no  ring,  and  was  not  behind   the 
chapel  with  Randal,  nor  drinking  at  Flaherty's  with  him, 
the  time  she  was,  I  give  up  all. 

Randal,  Agreed,  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  mother. 
Oh,  may  1  run  for  her  ? 

Old  MB.  Not  a  fut,  you  sir — go  Phil  dear. 
Phil.  That  I  will,  like  a  lapwing,  father. 
Mr.  Carv.  Where  to,  sir — where  so  precipitate  ? 
Phil.  Only  to  fetch  my  sister. 

Mr.  Carv.  Your  sister,  sir? — then  you  need  not  go 
far:  your  sister,  Honor  M'Bride,  is,  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  in  this  house. 

Catty.  So.     Under  whose  protection,  I  wonder  ? 
Mr.  Carv.  Under  the  protection  of  Mrs.  Carver,  ma- 
dam, into  whose  service  she  was  desirous  to  engage 
herself;  and  whose  advice — 

Clerk.  Shall  I,  if  you  please,  sir,  call  Honor  in? 
Mr.  Carv.  If  you  please. 

[A  silence.  CATTY  stands  biting  her  thumb.  Old 
M'BRIDE  leans  his  chin  upon  his  hands  on  his  stick, 
and  never  stirs,  even  his  eyes.  Young  M'BRIDE  looks 
out  eagerly  to  the  side  at  which  HONOR  is  expected  to 
enter — RANDAL  looking  over  his  shoulder,  exclaims — 
There  she  comes  !  Innocence  in  all  her  looks. 

Catty.  Oh!  that  we  shall  see  soon.  No  making  a 
fool  of  me. 

Old  MB.  My  daughter's  step — I  should  know  it. 
(Aside)  How  my  old  heart  bates  ! 

[Mr.  CARVER  takes  a  chair  out  of  the  way. 
Catty.  Walk  in — walk  on,  Miss  Honor.    Oh,  to  be 
sure,  Miss  Honor  will  have  justice. 


A   DRAMA.  177 

Enter  HONOR  M'BRIDE,  walking  very  timidly. 

And  no  need  to  be  ashamed,  Miss  Honor,  until  you're 
found  out. 

Mr.  Cam.  Silence ! 

Old  MB.  Thank  your  honour. 

[Mr.  CARVER  whispers  to  his  clerk,  and  directs  hint, 
while  the  following  speeches  go  OH. 

Catty.  That's  a  very  pretty  courtesy,  Miss  Honor — 
walk  on,  pray — all  the  gentlemen's  admiring  you — my 
son  Randal  beyant  all. 

Randal.  Mother,  I  won't  bear — 

Catty.  Can't  you  find  a  sate  for  her,  any  of  yees  ? 
Here's  a  stool — give  it  her,  Randal.  (HONOH  sits  down.) 
And  I  hope  it  won't  prove  the  stool  of  repentance,  miss 
or  madam.  Oh,  bounce  your  forehead,  Randal — truth 
must  out ;  you've  put  it  to  the  test,  sir. 

Randal.  1  desire  no  other  for  her  or  myself. 

[The  father  and  brother  take  each  a  hand  of  HONOR — 
support  and  sooth  her. 

Catty.  I'd  pity  you,  Honor,  myself,  only  I  know  you 
are  a  M'Bride  ;  and  know  you're  desaving  me,  and  all 
present. 

Mr.  Carv.  Call  that  other  witness  I  allude  to,  clerk, 
into  our  presence  without  delay. 

Clerk.  I  shall,  sir.  [Exit  Clerk. 

Catty.  We'll  see — we'll  see  all  soon — and  the  truth 
will  come  out,  and  shame  the  dibbil  and  the  M'Brides ! 

Randal,  {looking  out)  The  man  1  bet,  as  I'm  a 
sinner ! 

Catty.  What  T — which  1 — where  1 — True  for  ye  ! — I 
was  wondering-  I  did  not  see  the  man  you  bet  appear 
again  ye :  and  this  is  he,  with  the  head  bound  up  in  the 
garter,  coming — miserable  cratur  he  looks — who  would 
he  be? 

Randal.  You'll  see  all  soon,  mother. 

Enter  PAT  COXE,  his  head  bound  up. 

Mr.  Carv.  Come  on — walk  on  boldly,  friend. 

Catty.  Pat  Coxe !  saints  above ! 

Mr.  Carv.  Take  courage,  you  are  under  my  protection 
here — no  one  will  dare  to  touch  you. 

Randal,  (with  infinite  contempt)  Touch  ye  !  Not  I,  ye 
dirty  dog ! 

H3 


178  LOVE    AND    LAW  ; 

Mr.  Carw.  No,  sir,  you  have  done  enough  that  way 
already,  it  appears. 

Honor.  Randal !  what,  has  Randal  done  this  ? 

Mr.  Cam.  Now  observe — this  Mr.  Patrick  Coxe, 
aforesaid,  has  taken  refuge  with  me ;  for  he  is,  it  seems, 
afraid  to  appear  before  his  master,  Mr.  O'Blaney,  this 
night,  after  having  been  beaten:  though,  as  he  assures 
me,  he  has  been  beaten  without  any  provocation  what- 
soever, by  you,  Mr.  Randal  Rooney ;  answer,  sir,  to  this 
matter? 

Randal.  I  don't  deny  it,  sir ;  I  bet  him,  'tis  true. 

Pat.  To  a  jelly — without  marcy — he  did,  plase  your 
honour,  sir. 

Randal.  Sir,  plase  your  honour,  I  got  rason  to  sus- 
pect this  man  to  be  the  author  of  all  them  lies  that  was 
tould  backwards  and  forwards  to  my  mother  about  me 
and  Miss  Honor  M'Bride,  which  made  my  mother  mad, 
and  driv'  her  to  raise  the  riot,  plase  your  honour.  I 
charged  Pat  with  the  lies,  and  he  shirked,  and  could 
give  me  no  satisfaction,  but  kept  swearing  he  was  no 
liar,  and  bid  me  keep  my  distance,  for  he'd  a  pocket 
pistol  about  him.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  have  about 
you — you  have  not  the  truth  about  ye,  nor  in  ye,"  says 
I ;  "ye  are  a  liar,  Pat  Coxe,"  says  I :  so  he  cocked  the 
pistol  at  me,  saying  that  would  prove  me  a  coward— 
with  that  I  wrenched  the  pistol  from  him,  and  bet  him  in 
a  big  passion.  I  own  to  that,  plase  your  honour — there 
I  own  I  was  wrong  (turning  to  HONOR)  to  demane  myself 
lifting  my  hand  any  way. 

Mr.  Carv.  But  it  is  not  yet  proved  that  this  man  has 
told  any  lies. 

Randal.  If  he  has  tould  no  lies,  I  wronged  him. 
Speak,  mother — -(CoxE  gets  behind  CATTY,  and  twitches 
her  gown),  was  it  he  who  was  the  informer,  or  not  ? 

Catty.  Nay,  Pat  Coxe,  if  you  lied,  I'll  not  screen 
you ;  but  if  you  tould  the  truth,  stand  out  like  a  man, 
and  stand  to  it,  and  I'll  stand  by  you,  against  my 
own  son  even,  Randal,  if  he  was  the  author  of  the 
report.  In  plain  words,  then,  he,  Pat  Coxe,  tould  me, 
that  she,  Honor  M'Bride,  gave  you,  Randal  Rooney, 
the  meeting  behind  the  chapel,  and  you  gave  her  the 
ring, — and  then  she  went  with  you  to  drink  at  Fla- 
herty's. 

Honor,  (starting  up)  Oh!  who  could  say  the  like  of 
me? 


A   DRAMA.  179 

Catty.  There  he  stands — now,  Pat,  you  must  stand 
or  fall — will  you  swear  to  what  you  said  ?  (Old  M'BRIDK 
and  PHIL  approach  PAT.) 

Mr.  Carv.  This  is  not  the  point  before  me  ;  but,  how- 
ever, I  waive  that  objection. 

Randal.  Oh !  mother,  don't  put  him  to  his  oath,  lest 
he'd  perjure  himself. 

Pat.  I'll  swear :  do  you  think  I'd  be  making  a  liar  of 
myself? 

Honor.  Father — Phil  dear — hear  me  one  word ! 

Randal.  Hear  her — oh !  hear  her — go  to  her. 

Honor,  (in  a  low  voice)  Would  you  ask  at  what 
time  it  was  he  pretends  I  was  taking  the  ring  and  all 
that? 

Old  MB.  Plase  your  honour,  would  you  ask  the  ras- 
cal what  time  1 

Mr.  Carv.  Don't  call  him  rascal,  sir — no  rascals  in 
my  presence.  What  time  did  you  see  Honor  M'Bride 
behind  the  chapel,  Pat  Coxe  "\ 

Pat.  As  the  clock  struck  twelve — I  mind — by  the 
same  token  the  workmen's  bell  rang  as  usual !  that 
same  time,  just  as  I  seen  Mr.  Randal  there  putting  the 
ring  on  her  finger,  and  I  said,  "  there's  the  bell  ringing  for 
a  wedding"  says  I. 

Mr.  Carv.  To  whom  did  you  say  that,  sir? 

Pat.  To  myself,  plase  your  honour — I'll  tell  you  the 
truth. 

Honor.  Truth!  That  time  the  clock  struck  twelve 
and  the  bell  rang,  I  was  happily  here  in  this  house,  sir. 

Mr.  Carv.  At  Bob's  Fort  1  what  witness  ? 

Honor.  If  I  might  take  the  liberty  to  call  one  could 
do  me  justice. 

Mr.  Carv.  No  liberty  in  justice — speak  out. 

Honor.  If  I  might  trouble  Mrs.  Carver  herself  ? 

Mr.  Carv.  Mrs.  Carver  will  think  it  no  trouble  (rising 
with  dignity}  to  do  justice,  for  she  has  been  the  wife  to 
one  of  his  majesty's  justices  of  the  peace  for  many 
years.  [Sends  a  servant  for  Mrs.  CARVER. 

Mr.  Carv.  Mrs.  Carver,  my  dear,  I  must  summon  you 
to  appear  in  open  court,  at  the  suit  or  prayer  of  Honor 
M'Bride. 

Enter  Mrs.  CARVER,  who  is  followed  by  Miss  BLOOMSBURY, 

on  tiptoe. 
Mrs.  Carv.  Willingly. 


180  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Mr.  Cam.  The  case  lies  in  a  nutshell,  my  dear:  there 
is  a  man  who  swears  that  Honor  M'Bride  was  behind 
the  chapel,  with  Randal  Rooney,  putting  a  ring  on  her 
finger,  when  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and  our  workmen's 
bell  rang  this  morning.  Honor  avers  she  was  at  Bob's 
Fort  with  you :  now  as  she  could  not  be,  like  a  bird,  in 
two  places  at  once — was  she  with  you  ? 

Mrs.  Carv.  Honor  M'Bride  was  with  me  when  the 
workmen's  bell  rang,  and  when  the  clock  struck  twelve 
this  day — she  staid  with  me  till  two  o'clock. 

[All  the  RODNEYS,  except  CATTY,  exclaim — 

Oh,  no  going  beyond  the  lady's  word  ! 

Mrs.  Carv.  And  I  think  it  but  justice  to  add,  that 
Honor  M'Bride  has  this  day  given  me  such  proofs  of  her 
being  a  good  girl,  a  good  daughter,  and  a  good  sister, 
that  she  has  secured  my  good  opinion  and  good  wishes 
for  life. 

Mr.  Carv.  And  mine  in  consequence. 

Bloom.  And  mine  of  course.  [HONOR  courtesies. 

[Old  M'BRIDE  bows  very  low  to  Mr.  CARVER,  and  again 
to  Mrs.  CARVER.  PHIL  bows  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  CARVER, 
and  to  Miss  BLOOMSBURY. 

Old  MB.  Where  are  you  now,  Catty  1 — and  you,  Pat, 
ye  unfortinate  liar1? 

Pat.  (falling  on  Ms  knees)  On  my  knees  I  am.  Oh,  I 
am  an  unfortinate  liar,  and  I  beg  your  honour's  pardon 
this  once. 

Mr.  Carv.  A  most  abandoned  liar  I  pronounce  you. 

Pat.  Oh !  I  hope  your  honour  won't  abandon  me,  for 
I  didn't  know  Miss  Honor  was  under  her  ladyship 
Mrs.  Carver's  favour  and  purtection,  or  I'd  sooner  ha' 
cut  my  tongue  out  elane — and  I  expect  your  honour 
won't  turn  your  back  on  me  quite,  for  this  is  the  first 
lies  I  ever  was  found  out  in  since  my  creation ;  and 
how  could  I  help,  when  it  was  by  my  master's  particular 
desire  ? 

Mr.  Carv.  Your  master  !'  honest  Gerald  O'Blaney  ! 

Catty.  O'Blaney ! — save  us  !  (Lifting  up  her  hands  and 
eyes.) 

Mr.  Carv.  Take  care,  Pat  Coxe. 

Pat.  Mr.  O'Blaney,  ma'am — plase  your  honour — all 
truth  now — the  counshillor,  that  same,  and  no  other,  as 
I've  breath  in  my  body — for  why  should  I  tell  a  lie  now, 
when  I've  no  place  in  my  eye,  and  not  a  ha'porth  to  get 
by  it  1  I'll  confess  all.  It  was  by  my  master's  orders  that 


A   DRAMA.  181 

I  set  you,  Mrs.  Rooney,  and  your  pride  up,  ma'am,  again' 
making  up  with  them  M'Brides.  I'll  tell  the  truth  now, 
plase  your  honour — that  was  the  cause  of  the  lies  I 
mentioned  about  the  ring  and  chapel — I'll  tell  more,  if 
you'll  bind  Mr.  Randal  to  keep  the  pace. 

Randal.  1 1 — ye  dirty  dog ! — Didn't  I  tell  ye  already 
I'd  not  dirty  my  fingers  with  the  likes  of  you  ] 

Pat.  All  Mr.  Gerald  O'Blaney's  aim  was  to  ruin  Mr. 
Randal  Rooney,  and  set  him  by  the  ears  with  that  gen- 
tleman, Mr.  Philip  M'Bride,  the  brother,  and  they  to 
come  to  blows  and  outrage,  and  then  be  in  disgrace  com- 
mitted by  his  honour. 

Randal,  (turning  to  HONOR  M'BRIDE)  Honor,  you 
saved  all — your  brother  and  I  never  lifted  our  hands 
against  one  another,  thanks  be  to  Heaven  and  you, 
dearest ! 

Catty.  And  was  there  no  truth  in  the  story  of  the 
chapel  and  the  ring  T 

Pat.  Not  a  word  of  truth,  but  lies,  Mrs.  Rooney,  dear 
ma'am,  of  the  master's  putting  into  my  mouth  out  of  his 
own  head. 

[CATTY  ROONEY  walks  firmly  and  deliberately 
across  the  room  to  HONOR  M'BRIDE. 

Catty.  Honor  M'Bride,  I  was  wrong ;  and  here,  pub- 
licly, as  I  traduced  you,  I  ax  your  pardon  before  his 
honour,  and  your  father,  and  your  brother,  and  before 
Randal,  and  before  my  faction  and  his. 

\Both  ROONEYS  and  M'BRIDES,  all  excepting  Old 
M'BRIDE,  clap  their  hands  and  huzza. 

Mr.  Cam.  I  ought  to  reprove  this  acclamation — but 
this  once  I  let  it  pass. 

Phil.  Father,  you  said  nothing — what  do  you  say,  sir  1 

OldM'B.  (never  moving)  I  say  nothing  at  all.  I  never 
doubted  Honor,  and  knew  the  truth  must  appear — that's 
all  I  say. 

Honor.  Oh  !  father  dear — more  you  will  say  (shaking 
his  stick  gently)  Look  up  at  me,  and  remember  the 
promise  you  gave  me,  when  Catty  should  be  rasonable 
— and  is  not  she  rasonable  now  ? 

Old  M'B.  I  did  not  hear  a  word  from  her  about  the 
bog  of  Ballynascraw. 

Catty.  Is  it  the  pitiful  bit  ? — No  more  about  it ! — Make 
crame-cheeses  of  it — what  care  I  ?  'Twas  only  for  pride 
I  stood  out — not  that  I'm  thinking  of  now  ! 


182  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Old  MB.  Well,  then,  miracles  will  never  cease !  here's 
one  in  your  favour,  Honor ;  so  take  her,  Randal,  fortune 
and  all — a  wife  of  five  hundred. 

Randal,  (kneeling)  Oh !  happiest  of  men  I  am  this 
minute. 

Catty.  I  the  same,  if  she  had  not  a  pinny  in  the  world. 

Mr.  Carv.  Happiest  of  men! — Don't  kneel  or  go  into 
ecstacies  now,  I  beg,  till  I  know  the  rationale  of  this. 
Was  not  I  consulted  1 — did  not  I  give  my  opinion  and 
advice  in  favour  of  another  ? 

Old  MS.  You  was — you  did,  plase  your  honour ; 
and  I  beg  your  honour's  pardon,  and  Mr.  Counsellor 
O'Blaney's. 

Mr.  Carv.  And  did  not  you  give  your  consent  ? — I 
must  think  him  a  very  ill-used  person. 

Old  MB.  I  gave  my  consint  only  in  case  he  could 
win  hers,  plase  your  honour,  and  he  could  not — and  I 
could  not  break  my  own  daughter's  heart,  and  I  beg 
your  honour's  pardon. 

Mr.  Carv.  1  don't  know  how  that  may  be,  sir ;  but  I 
gave  my  approbation  to  the  match,  and  I  really  am  not 
accustomed  to  have  my  advice  or  opinion  neglected  or 
controverted.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand — 

Enter  a  Footman  with  a  note,  which  he  gives  to  Mr.  CARVKR. 

Old  MB.  (aside  to  PHIL)  Say  something  for  me,  Phil, 
can't  ye  ? — I  hav'n't  a  word. 

Mr.  Carv.  (rising  with  a  quicker  motion  than  usual) 
Bless  me  !  bless  me  !  here  is  a  revolution !  and  a  coun- 
ter-revolution ! — Here's  news  will  make  you  all  in  as 
great  astonishment  as  I  own  I  am. 

Old  MB.  What  is  it  ? 

Randal.  I'm  made  for  life — I  don't  care  what  comes. 

Honor.  Nor  I :  so  it  is  not  to  touch  you,  I'm  happy. 

Catty.  Oh !  your  honour,  spake  quick  this  lime — I  beg 
pardon ! 

Mr.  Carv.  Then  I  have  to  confess  that  for  once  I  have 
been  deceived  and  mistaken  in  my  judgment  of  a  man  ; 
and  what  is  more,  of  a  man's  circumstances  completely 
— O'Blaney. 

Old  M'B.  What  of  his  circumstances,  oh !  sir,  in  the 
name  of  mercy  * 

Mr.  Carv.  Bankrupt — at  this  instant  all  under  seizure 


A   DRAMA.  183 

to  the  supervisor.  Mr.  Gerald  O'Blaney  has  fled  the 
country. 

Old  M'B.  Then,  Honor,  you  are  without  a  penny ;  for 
all  her  fortune,  500/.,  was  in  his  hands. 

Randal.  Then  I'm  as  happy  to  have  her  without  a 
penny — happier  I  am  to  prove  my  love  pure. 

Catty.  God  bless  you  for  my  own  son !  That's  our 
way  of  thinking,  Mr.  M'Bride — you  see  it  was  not  for 
the  fortune. 

Honor.  Oh !  Phil,  didn't  I  tell  you  her  heart  was 
right  1 

Catty.  We  will  work  hard — cheer  up,  M'Brides.  Now 
the  Rooneys  and  M'Brides  has  joined,  you'll  see  we'll 
defy  the  world  and  O'Blaney,  the  chale  of  chates. 

Honor.  Randal's  own  mother ! 

Catty.  Ay,  now  we  are  all  one  family — now  pull  to- 
gether. Don't  be  cast  down,  Phil  dear.  I'll  never  call 
you  Flourishing  Phil  again ;  so  don't  be  standing  on  pride. 
Suppose  your  shister  has  not  a  pinny,  she's  better  than 
the  best,  and  I'll  love  her  and  fold  her  to  my  ould  warm 
heart,  and  the  daughter  of  my  heart  she  is  now. 

Honor.  Oh,  mother  ! — for  you  are  my  mother  now— - 
and  happy  1  am  to  have  a  mother  in  you. 

Mr.  Carv.  I  protest  it  makes  me  almost — almost — 
blow  my  nose. 

Catty.  Why,  then,  you're  a  good  cratur.  But,  who 
tould  you  I  was  a  vixen,  dear — plase  your  honour ! 

Mr.  Carv.  Your  friend  that  is  gone. 

Catty.  O'Blaney? 

Randal.  Frind !  He  never  was  frind  to  none — least 
of  all  to  hisself. 

Catty.  Oh !  the  double-distilled  villain  ! — he  tould  your 
honour  I  was  a  vixen,  and  fond  of  law.  Now  would  you 
believe  what  I'm  going  to  till  you  1  He  tould  me  of  his 
honour — 

Mr.  Carv.  Of  me,  his  patron  ? 

Catty.  Of  you,  his  patron,  sir.  He  tould  me  your 
honour — which  is  a  slander,  as  we  all  here  can  witness, 
— can't  we  ]  by  his  honour's  contempt  of  Pat  Coxe — yet 
O'Blaney  said  you  was  as  fond  and  proud  of  having 
informers  about  you  as  a  rat-catcher  is  of  rats. 

Mr.  Carv.  Mistress  Catherine  Rooney,  and  all  you 
good  people, — there  is  a  great  deal  of  difference  between 
obtaining  information  and  encouraging  common  in- 
formers. 


184  LOVE  AND  LAW; 

Catty.  There  is,  I'm  sinsible.  (Aside  to  her  son) 
Then  he's  a  good  magistrate — except  a  little  pompous, 
mighty  good.  (Aloud  to  Mr.  CARVER)  Then  1  beg  your 
honour's  pardon  for  my  bad  behaviour,  and  bad  language 
and  all.  'Twas  O'Blaney's  fau't-vbut  he's  down,  and 
don't  trample  on  the  fallen. 

Old  MB.  Don't  defind  O'Blaney !  Oh,  the  villain  !  to 
rob  me  of  all  my  hard  arnings.  Mrs. Catty,  I  thank  you  as 
a  heavy  heart  can,  for  you're  ginerous ;  and  you,  Ran- 
dal, for  your — 

Randal.  Is  it  for  loving  her,  when  I  can't  help  it  ? — 
who  could  1 

Old  M'B.  (sighing  deeply)  But  still  it  goes  against  the 
father's  heart  to  see  his  child,  his  pride,  go  pinnyless 
out  of  his  house. 

Phil.  Then,  sir,  father  dear,  I  have  to  tell  you  she  is 
not  pennyless.  But  I  would  not  tell  you  before,  that 
Randall,  and  Catty  too,  might  show  themselves  what 
they  are.  Honor  is  not  pennyless  :  the  three  hundred 
you  gave  me  to  lodge  with  O'Blaney  is  safe  here. 
(Opening  his  pocket-book)  When  I  was  going  to  him 
with  it  as  you  ordered,  by  great  luck  I  was  stopped  by 
this  very  quarrel  and  riot  in  Bally navogue  :  he  was  the 
original  cause  of  kicking  up  the  riot,  and  was  summoned 
before  your  honour, — and  here's  the  money. 

Old  M>B.  Oh,  she's  not  pinnyless !  Well,  I  never 
saw  money  with  so  much  pleasure  in  all  my  long  days, 
nor  could  I  think  I'd  ever  live  to  give  it  away  with  half 
so  much  satisfaction  as  this  minute.  I  here  give  it, 
Honor,  to  Randal  Rooney  and  you  :  and  bless  ye,  child, 
with  the  man  of  your  choice,  who  is  mine  now. 

Mrs.  Carv.  (aside  to  Mr.  CABVER)  My  dear,  I  wish  to 
invite  all  these  good  people  to  a  wedding-dinner;  but 
really  I  am  afraid  1  shall  blunder  in  saying  their  names. 
Will  you  prompt  me  1 

Mr.  Carv.  (aside  to  Mrs.  CARVER)  Why  really  I  am 
not  used  to  be  a  prompter  ;  however,  I  will  condescend 
to  prompt  you,  Mrs.  Carver.  (He  prompts  while  she 
speaks.) 

Mrs.  Carv.  Mr.  Big  Briny  of  Cloon,  Mr.  Ulick  of  Elio- 
garty,  Mr.  Charley  of  Killaspugbrone,  and  you  Mrs. 
Catty  Rooney,  and  you  Mr.  M'Bride  senior,  and  you 
Mr.  Philip  M'Bride,  no  longer  Flourishing  Phil ;  since 
you  are  now  all  reconciled,  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
giving  you  a  reconciliation  dinner  at  the  wedding  of 


A    DRAMA.  185 

Honor  M'Bride,  who  is  an  honour  to  her  family,  and 
Randal  Rooney,  who  so  well  deserves  her  lore. 

The  M'BRIDES  and  RooNEYS/om  in  the  cry  of 
Long  life  and  great  luck  to  your  ladyship,  that  was 
always  good ! 

Mr.  Carv.  And  you  comprehend  that  I  beg  that  the 
wedding  may  be  celebrated  at  Bob's  Fort. 

All  join  in  crying, 

Long  may  your  honour's  honour  reign  over  us  in  glory 
at  Bob's  Fort ! 

Catty,  (cracking  her  fingers)  A  fig  for  the  bog  of  Bal- 
lyuascraw ! — Now  'tis  all  LOVE  and  no  LAW  ! 


THE   ROSE,    THISTLE, 

AND 

SHAMROCK? 

A  DRAMA. 
IN   THREE  ACTS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

MEN. 

SIB  WILLIAM  HAMDEN  An  elderly  English  Gentleman. 

CHRISTY  GALLAGHER  Landl^d  of  an  Irish  village  inn. 

MR.  ANDREW  HOFE  .  A  Dn^.-mu^  r  in  a  Scotch  regi 


OWKN  LAR&EN  The  S<n  oj  ifie  Widow  Larken.— 

a  boy  of  about  fifteen. 

GILBERT  An  English  Servant  of  Sir  Wil- 

liam Hamden. 

WOMEN. 

Miss  O'HARA    .  .    .    .    .   A  young  Heiress  —  Niece  of  Sir 

William  Hamden. 

Miss  FLORIND  A  GALLAGHER  .  .  Daughter  of  Christy  Gallagher. 
THE  WIDOW  LARKJCN  .  .  .  Mother  of  Owen  and  of  Mabel. 
MABEL  LARKEN  .  .  ,  Daughter  of  the  Widow  Larken. 

BIDDY  DOYLE  .......   Maid  of  the  Inn. 

Band  of  a  regiment. 
SCENE.—  The  Village  of  Bannow,  in  Ireland. 


THE  ROSE,  &c. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Dressing-room  in  Bannow  Castle,  in  Ireland. 
Enter  Sir  WILLIAM  HAMDEN,  in  his  morning-gown. 

Sir  W.  Every  thing  precisely  in  order,  even  in  Ireland ! 
laid,  I  do  believe,  at  the  very  same  angle  at  which  they 
used  to  be  placed  on  my  own  dressing-table,  at  Ham- 
den-place,  in  Kent.  Exact  Gilbert !  most  punctual 
of  valet-de-chambres !  and  a  young  fellow,  as  he  is,  too ! 
It  is  admirable !  Ay,  though  he  looks  as  if  he  was  made 
of  wood,  and  moves  like  an  automaton,  he  has  a  warm 
heart  and  a  true  English  spirit — true  born  English  every 
inch  of  him.  1  remember  him,  when  first  I  saw  him 
ten  years  ago  at  his  father's,  Farmer  Ashfield's,  at  the 
harvest-home ;  there  was  Gilbert  in  all  his  glory,  seated 
on  the  top  of  a  hay-rick,  singing 

"  Then  sing  in  praise  of  men  of  Kent, 

So  loyal,  brave,  and  Tree; 
Of  Britain's  race,  if  one  surpass, 
A  man  of  Kent  is  he  !" 

How  he  brought  himself  to  quit  the  men  of  Kent  to 
come  to  Ireland  with  me  is  wonderful.  However,  now 
he  is  here,  I  hope  he  is  tolerably  happy  :  I  must  ask  the 
question  in  direct  terms ;  for  Gilbert  would  never  speak 
till  spoken  to,  let  him  feel  what  he  might. 

Sir  W.  (calls)  Gilbert !  Gilbert ! 

Enter  GILBERT. 

Gilb.  Here,  sir. 

Sir  W.  Gilbert,  now  you  have  been  in  Ireland  some 
weeks,  I  hope  you  are  not  unhappy. 


190  THE   ROSE,   ETC.  t 

Gilb.  No,  sir,  thank  you,  sir. 

Sir  W.  But  are  you  happy,  man  ? 

Gilb,  Yes,  sir,  thank  you,  sir. 

[GILBERT  retires,  and  seems  busy  arranging  his  master's 
clothes:  Sir  WILLIAM  continues  dressing. 

Sir  W.  (aside)  Yes,  sir,  thank  you,  sir.  As  dry  as  a 
chip  ;  sparing  of  his  words  as  if  they  were  his  last.  And 
the  fellow  can  talk  if  he  would — has  humour,  too,  if  one 
could  get  it  out ;  and  eloquence,  could  I  but  touch  the 
right  string,  the  heart-string.  I'll  try  again.  (Aloud) 
Gilbert ! 

Gilb.  Yes,  sir.  (Comes  forward  respectfully.) 

Sir  W.  Pray  what  regiment  was  it  that  was  passing 
yesterday  through  the  village  of  Bannow  1 

Gilb.  I  do  not  know,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  W.  That  is  to  say,  you  saw  they  were  Highland- 
ers, and  that  was  enough  for  you  ;  you  are  not  fond  of 
the  Scotch,  Gilbert  ? 

Gilb.  No,  sir,  1  can't  say  as  I  be. 

Sir  W.  But,  Gilbert,  for  my  sake  you  must  conquer 
this  prejudice.  I  have  many  Scotch  friends  whom  I 
shall  go  to  visit  one  of  these  days  ;  excellent  friends 
they  are ! 

Gilb.  Are  they,  sir  1  If  so  be  you  found  them  so,  I 
will  do  my  best,  I'm  sure. 

Sir  W.  Then  pray  go  down  to  the  inn  here,  and  inquire 
if  any  of  the  Scotch  officers  are  there. 

Gilb.  I  will,  sir.  I  heard  say  the  officers  went  off  this 
morning. 

Sir  W.  Then  you  need  not  go  to  inquire  for  them. 

Gilb.  No,  sir.  Only  as  I  heard  say,  the  drum-major 
and  band  is  to  stay  a  few  days  in  Bannow,  on  account 
of  their  wanting  to  enlist  a  new  bugle-boy.  I  was  a  think- 
ing, if  so  be,  sir,  you  thought  well  of  it,  on  account 
you  like  these  Scotch,  I'd  better  to  step  down  and  see 
how  the  men  be  as  to  being  comfortable. 

Sir  W.  That's  right,  do.  Pray,  have  they  tolerable 
accommodations  at  the  inn  in  this  village  1 

Gilb.  (smiling)  I  can't  say  much  for  that,  sir. 

Sir  W.  (aside)  Now  I  shall  set  him  going.  (Aloud.) 
What,  the  inn  here  is  not  like  one  of  our  English  inns 
on  the  Bath  road  ? 

Gilb.  (suppressing  a  laugh)  Bath  road !  Bless  you,  sir, 
it's  no  more  like  an  inn  on  the  Bath  road,  nor  on  any 
road,  cross  or  by-road  whatsomdever,  as  ever  I  seed  in 


A    DRAMA.  191 

England.  No  more  like — no  more  like  than  nothing  at 
all,  sir ! 

Sir  W.  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it,  then * 

Gilb.  Why,  sir,  I'd  be  ashamed  almost  to  tell  you. 
Why,  sir,  I  never  seed  such  a  place  to  call  an  inn  in  all 
my  born  days  afore.  First  and  foremost,  sir,  there's 
the  pig  is  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen  all  day  long,  and 
next  the  calf  has  what  they  call  the  run  of  the  kitchen ; 
so  what  with  them  brute  beasts,  and  the  poultry  that 
has  no  coop,  and  is  always  under  one's  feet,  or  over 
one's  head,  the  kitchen  is  no  place  for  a  Christian,  even 
to  eat  his  bread  and  cheese  in. 

Sir  W.  Well,  so  much  for  the  kitchen.  But  the  par- 
lour— they  have  a  parlour,  I  suppose  ? 

Gilb.  Yes,  sir,  they  have  a  parlour,  as  they  may  call 
it,  if  they  think  proper,  sir.  But  then  again,  an  honest 
English  farmer  would  be  afeard  on  his  life  to  stay  in  it, 
on  account  of  the  ceiling  just  a  coming  down  a'  top 
of  his  head.  And  if  he  should  go  up  stairs,  sir,  why 
that's  as  bad  again,  and  worse ;  for  the  half  of  them 
there  stairs  is  rotten,  and  ever  so  many  pulled  down 
and  burnt. 

Sir  W.  Burnt !— the  stairs  1 

Gilb.  Burnt,  sir,  as  sure  as  I'm  standing  here  ! — burnt, 
sir,  for  fuel  one  scarce  year,  as  they  says,  sir.  More- 
over, when  a  man  does  get  up  the  stairs,  sir,  why  he  is 
as  bad  off  again,  and  worse ;  for  the  floor  of  the  place 
they  calls  the  bedchamber  shakes  at  every  step,  as  if  it 
was  a  coming  down  with  one  ;  and  the  walls  has  all 
cracks,  from  top  to  toe — and  there's  rat-holes,  or  holes 
o'  some  sort  or  t'other,  all  in  the  floor ;  so  that  if  a 
man  don't  pick  his  steps  curiously,  his  leg  must  go  down 
through  the  ceiling  below.  And,  moreover,  there's  holes 
over  head  through  the  roof,  sir ;  so  that  if  it  rains,  it 
can't  but  pour  on  the  bed.  They  tell  me  they  used  for 
to  shift  the  bed  from  one  place  to  another  to  find,  as 
they  say,  the  dry  corner ;  but  now  the  floor  is  grown 
so  crazy,  they  dare  not  stir  the  bed  for  their  lives. 

Sir  W.  Worse  and  worse ! 

Gilb.  And,  moreover,  they  have  it  now  in  the  worst 
place  in  the  whole  room,  sir.  Close  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  where  there  is  a  window  with  every  pane  broke, 
and  some  out  entirely,  and  the  women's  petticoats  and 
the  men's  hats  just  stuck  in  to  stop  all  for  the  night,  as 
they  say,  sir.  [GILBERT  tries  to  stifle  his  laughter. 


102  THE   ROSE,   ETC.; 

Sir  W.  Laugh  out,  honest  Gilbert.  In  spite  of  your 
gravity  and  your  civility,  laugh.  There  is  no  harm,  but 
sometimes  a  great  deal  of  good  done  by  laughing,  es- 
pecially in  Ireland.  Laughing  has  mended,  or  caused 
to  be  mended,  many  things  that  never  would  have  been 
mended  otherwise. 

Gilb.  (recovering  his  gravity)  That's  true,  I  dare  to 
say,  sir. 

Sir  W.  Now,  Gilbert,  if  you  were  to  keep  an  inn,  it 
would  be  a  very  different  sort  of  inn  from  what  you  have 
been  describing — would  not  it  ? 

Gilb.  I  hope  so,  sir. 

Sir  W.  I  remember  when  we  were  talking  of  estab- 
lishing you  in  England,  that  your  father  told  me  you 
would  like  to  set  up  an  inn. 

Gilb.  (his  face  brightening)  For  sartin,  sir,  'tis  the  thing 
in  the  whole  world  I  should  like  the  best,  and  be  the 
proudest  on,  if  so  be  it  was  in  my  power,  and  if  so  be, 
sir,  you  could  spare  me.  (Holding  his  master's  coal  for 
him  to  put  on.) 

Sir  W.  Could  spare  you,  Gilbert ! — I  will  spare  you, 
whether  I  can  conveniently  or  not.  If  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  establishing  advantageously  a  man  who  has 
served  me  faithfully  for  ten  years,  do  you  think  I  would 
not  put  myself  to  a  little  inconvenience  to  do  it  T  Gil- 
bert, you  do  not  know  Sir  William  Hamden. 

Gilb.  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  do  ;  and  I  should  be  main 
sorry  to  leave  you,  that's  sartin,  if  it  was  even  to  be 
landlord  of  the  best  inn  in  all  England — I  know  I  should. 

Sir  W.  I  believe  it.  But  stay,  let  us  understand  one 
another ;  I  am  not  talking  of  England,  and  perhaps  you 
are  not  thinking  of  Ireland. 

Gilb.  Yes,  sir,  but  I  am. 

Sir  W.  You  are !  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  it,  for 
then  I  can  serve  you  directly.  This  young  heiress,  my 
niece,  to  whom  this  town  belongs,  has  a  new  inn  ready 
built. 

Gilb.  I  know,  sir. 

Sir  W.  Then,  Gilbert,  write  a  proposal  for  this  inn, 
if  you  wish  for  it,  and  I  will  speak  to  my  niece. 

Gilb.  (bowing)  I  thank  you,  sir — only  I  hope  I  shall 
not  stand  in  any  honest  man's  light.  As  to  a  dishonest 
man,  I  can't  say  I  value  standing  in  his  light,  being  that 
he  has  no  right  to  have  any,  as  I  can  see. 

Sir  W.  So,  Gilbert,  you  will  settle  in  Ireland  at  last  ? 


A    DRAMA.  103 

I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you  have  overcome  your 
prejudices  against  this  country.  How  has  this  been 
brought  about ! 

Gilb.  Why,  sir,  the  thing  was,  I  didn't  know  nothing 
about  it,  and  there  was  a  many  lies  told  backwards  and 
forwards  of  Ireland,  by  a  many  that  ought  to  have  known 
better. 

Sir  W.  And  now  that  you  have  seen  with  your  own 
eyes,  you  are  happily  convinced  that  in  Ireland  the  men 
are  not  all  savages  ? 

Gilb.  No,  sir,  no  ways  savage,  except  in  the  article 
of  some  of  them  going  barefooted ;  but  the  men  is  good 
men  most  of  them. 

Sir  W.  And  the  women  ?  You  find  that  they  have 
not  wings  on  their  shoulders. 

Gilb.  No,  sir.  (Smiling.)  And  I'm  glad  they  have  not 
got  wings,  else  they  might  fly  away  from  us,  which  I'd 
be  sorry  for — some  of  them. 

[After  making  this  speech,  GILBERT  steps  lack  and  brushes 
his  master's  hat  diligently. 

Sir  W.  (aside)  Ha  !  is  that  the  case  T  Now  I  under- 
stand it  all.  'Tis  fair  that  Cupid,  who  blinds  so  many, 
should  open  the  eyes  of  some  of  his  votaries.  (Aloud.) 
When  you  set  up  as  landlord  in  your  new  inn,  Gilbert, 
(GILBERT  comes  forward)  you  will  want  a  landlady,  shall 
not  you  T 

Gilb.  (falls  back  and  answers)  I  shall,  sir,  I  suppose. 

Sir  W.  Miss — what's  her  name  ?  the  daughter  of  the 
landlord  of  the  present  inn.  Miss — what's  her  name  ? 

Gilb.  (answers  without  coming  forward)  Miss  Galla- 
gher, sir. 

Sir  W.  Miss  Gallagher  1 — A  very  ugly  name ! — I  think 
it  would  be  charity  to  change  it,  Gilbert. 

Gilb.  (bashfully)  It  would,  no  doubt,  sir 

Sir  W.  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl. 

Gilb.  She  is,  sir,  no  doubt. 
[Cleaning  the  brush  with  his  hand,  bows,  and  is  retiring. 

Sir  W.  Gilbert,  stay.  (GILBERT  returns.)  I  say,  Gil- 
bert, I  took  particular  notice  of  this  Miss  Gallagher,  as 
she  was  speaking  to  you  last  Sunday.  I  thought  she 
seemed  to  smile  upon  you,  Gilbert. 

Gilb.  (very  bashfully)  I  can't  say,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  W.  I  don't  mean,  my  good  Gilbert,  to  press  you 
to  say  any  thing  that  you  don't  choose  to  say.  It  was 
not  from  idle  curiosity  that  I  asked  any  questions,  but 

VOL.  XVI.— L 


194  THE   ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

from  a  sincere  desire  to  serve  you  in  whatever  way  you 
like  best,  Gilbert. 

Gilb.  Oh,  dear  master !  I  can't  speak,  you  are  so 
good  to  me,  and  always  was — too  good !  so  I  say  no- 
thing. Only  I'm  not  ungrateful ;  I  know  I'm  not  un- 
grateful, that  I  am  not !  And  as  to  the  rest,  there's  not 
a  thought  I  have  you'd  condescend  for  to  know,  but  you 
should  know  it  as  soon  as  my  mother ;  that's  to  say,  as 
soon  as  ever  I  knowed  it  myself.  But,  sir,  the  thing 
is  this,  since  you're  so  good  to  let  me  speak  to  you, 
sir — 

Sir  W.  Speak  on,  pray,  my  good  fellow. 

Gilb.  Then,  sir,  the  thing  is  this.  There's  one  girl, 
they  say,  has  set  her  thoughts  upon  me :  now  I  don't 
like  she,  because  why  ? — I  loves  another ;  but  I  should 
not  choose  to  say  so,  on  account  of  its  not  being  over 
and  above  civil,  and  on  account  of  my  not  knowing  yet 
for  sartain  whether  or  not  the  girl  I  loves  loves  me, 
being  I  never  yet  could  bring  myself  to  ask  her  the 
question.  I'd  rather  not  mention  her  name  neither,  till 
I  be  more  at  a  sartainty.  But  since  you  be  so  kind,  sir, 
if  you  be  so  good  to  give  me  till  this  evening,  sir,  as  I 
have  now,  with  the  hopes  of  the  new  inn,  an  independ- 
ency to  offer  her,  I  will  take  courage,  and  I  shall  have 
her  answer  soon,  sir — and  I  will  let  you  know  with 
many  thanks,  sir,  whether — whether  my  heart's  broke 
or  not.  [Exit  GILBERT  hastily. 

Sir  W.  (alone)  Good,  affectionate  creature  !  But  who 
would  have  thought  that  put  of  that  piece  of  wood  a 
lover  could  be  made  ]  This  is  Cupid's  delight ! 

[Exit  Sir  WILLIAM. 


SCENE    II. 

Parlour  of  the  Inn  at  Bannow. 
Miss  FLORINDA  GALLAGHER,  sola. 

Vanous  articles  of  dress  on  the  floor — a  looking-glass 
propped  up  on  a  chest — Miss  GALLAGHER  is  kneeling  before 
the  glass,  dressing  her  long  hair,  which  hangs  over  her 
shoulders. 

Miss  G.  1  don't  know  what's  come  to  this  glass,  that 
it  is  not  flattering  at  all  the  day.    The  spots  and  cracks 


A   DRAMA.  195 

in  it  is  making  me  look  so  full  of  freckles  and  crow's 
feet — and  my  hair,  too,  that's  such  a  figure,  as  straight 
and  as  stiff  and  as  stubborn  as  a  Presbyterian.  See !  it 
won't  curl  for  me  :  so  it  is  in  the  papillotes  it  must  be  ; 
and  that's  most  genteel. 

[Sound  of  a  drum  at  a  distance — Miss  GALLAGHER  starts 
up  and  listens.  •' 

Miss  G.  Hark  till  I  hear !  Is  not  that  a  drum  I  hear  ? 
Ay,  I  had  always  a  quick  ear  for  the  drum  from  my 
cradle.  And  there's  the  whole  band — but  it's  only  at 
the  turn  of  the  avenue.  It's  on  parade  they  are.  So 
I'll  be  dressed  and  dacent  before  they  are  here,  I'll 
engage.  And  it's  my  plaid  scarf  I'll  throw  over  all, 
elegant  for  the  Highlanders,  and  I  don't  doubt  but  the 
drum-major  Avill  be  conquist  to  it  at  my  feet  afore  night 
— and  what  will  Mr.  Gilbert  say  to  that  ?  And  what 
matter  what  he  says  ? — I'm  not  bound  to  him,  especially 
as  he  never  popped  me  the  question,  being  so  prepos- 
terously bashful,  as  them  Englishmen  have  the  misfor- 
tune to  be.  But  that's  not  my  fault  any  way.  And  if 
I  happen  to  find  a  more  shutable  match,  while  he's 
turning  the  words  in  his  mouth,  who's  to  blame  me  ? — 
My  father,  suppose  ! — And  what  matter  1 — Have  not  I 
two  hundred  pounds  of  my  own  down  on  the  nail  if  the 
worst  come  to  the  worst,  and  why  need  I  be  a  slave  to 
any  man,  father  or  other  T — But  he'll  kill  himself  soon 
with  the  whiskey,  poor  man,  at  the  rate  he's  going. 
Two  glasses  now  for  his  mornings,  and  his  mornings  are 
going  on  all  day.  There  he  is,  roaring.  (Mr.  GAL- 
LAGHER heard  singing.)  You  can't  come  in  here,  sir. 

[She bolts  the  door. 

Enter  CHRISTY  GALLAGHER,  kicking  the  door  open. 

Christy.  Can't  I  dear !  what  will  hinder  me  1 — Give 
me  the  hay  of  the  spirits,  if  you  plase. 

Miss  G.  Oh,  sir !  see  how  you  are  walking  through 
all  my  things. 

Christy.  And  they  on  the  floor !— where  else  should 
I  walk,  but  on  the  floor,  pray,  Miss  Gallagher  ? — Is  it, 
like  a  fly,  on  the  ceiling  you'd  have  me  be,  walking  with 
my  head  upside  down,  to  plase  you  * 

Miss  G.  Indeed,  sir,  whatever  way  you're  walking,  it's 
with  your  head  upside  down,  as  anybody  may  notice,  and 
that  don't  plase  me  at  all— isn't  it  a  shame,  in  a  morning  ? 


106  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 

Christy.  Phoo !  don't  be  talking  of  shame,  you  that 
knows  nothing  about  it.  But  lend  me  the  kay  of  the 
spirits,  Florry. 

Miss  G.  Sir,  my  name's  Florinda — and  I've  not  the 
kay  of  the  spirits  at  all,  nor  any  such  vulgar  thiag. 

Christy.  .Vulgar  !  is  it  the  kay ! 

Miss  G.  Yes,  sir,  it's  very  vulgar  to  be  keeping  of  kays. 

Christy.  That's  lucky,  for  I've  lost  all  mine  now. 
Every  single  kay  I  have  in  the  wide  world  now  I  lost, 
barring  this  kay  of  the  spirits,  and  that  must  be  gone 
after  the  rest  too  I  b'lieve,  since  you  know  nothing  of 
it,  unless  it  be  in  this  here  chist. 

[CHRISTY  goes  to  the  chest. 

Miss  G.  Oh,  mercy,  sir! — Take  care  of  the  looking- 
glass,  which  is  broke  already.  Oh,  then,  father,  'tis  not 
in  the  chist,  'pon  my  word  and  honour  now,  if  you'll 
b'lieve :  so  don't  be  rummaging  of  all  my  things. 

[CHRISTY  persists  in  opening  the  chest. 

Christy.  It  don't  signify,  Florry  ;  I've  granted  myself 
a  gineral  search-warrant,  dear,  for  the  kay ;  and,  by  the 
blessing,  I'll  go  clane  to  the  bottom  o'  this  chist.  (Miss 
GALLAGHER  writhes  in  agony.)  Why,  what  makes  you 
stand  twisting  there  like  an  eel  or  an  ape,  child — What, 
in  the  name  of  the  ould  one,  is  it  you're  afeard  on  1 — 
Was  the  chist  full  now  of  love-letter  scrawls  from  the 
grand  signior  or  the  pope  himself,  you  could  not  be 
more  tinder  of  them. 

Miss  G.  Tinder,  sir ! — to  be  sure,  when  it's  my  best 
bonnet  I'm  thinking  on,  which  you  are  mashing  entirely. 

Christy.  Never  fear,  dear !  I  won't  mash  an  atom  of 
the  bonnet,  provided  always,  you'll  mash  these  apples 
for  me,  jewel.  (He  takes  apples  out  of  the  chest.)  And 
was'nt  I  lucky  to  find  them  in  it  ?  Oh,  I  knew  I'd  not 
sarch  this  chist  for  nothing.  See  how  they'll  make  an 
-ligant  apple-pie  for  Mr.  Gilbert  now,  who  loves  an 
iligant  apple-pie  above  all  things — your  iligant  self 
always  excipted,  dear. 

[Miss  GALLAGHER  makes  a  slight  courtesy,  but  motions  the 
apples  from  her. 

Miss  G.  Give  the  apples  then  to  the  girl,  sir,  and  she'll 
make  you  the  pie,  for  I  suppose  she  knows  how. 

Christy.  And  don't  you,  then,  Florry  ? 

Miss  G.  And  how  should  I,  sir  ?— You  didn't  send  me 
to  the  dancing-school  of  Ferrinafad  to  larn  me  to  make 
apple-pies,  I  conclude. 


A    DRAMA.  197 

Christy.  Troth,  Florry,  'twas  not  I  sint  you  there, 
sorrow  foot  but  your  mother ;  only  she's  in  her  grave, 
and  it's  bad  to  be  talking  ill  of  the  dead  any  way.  But 
be  that  how  it  will,  Mr.  Gilbert  must  get  the  apple-pie, 
for  rasons  of  my  own  that  need  not  be  mintioned.  So, 
Biddy!  Biddy,  girl !  Biddy  Doyle! 

Enter  BIDDY,  running,  with  a  ladle  in  her  hand 

Christy.  Drop  whatever  you  have  in  your  hand,  and 
come  here,  and  be  hanged  to  you !  And  had  you  no  ears 
to  your  head,  Biddy  ? 

Biddy.  Sure  I  have,  sir — ears  enough.  Only  they 
are  bothering  me  so  without,  that  pig  and  the  dog  fight- 
ing, that  I  could  not  hear  ye  calling  at-all-at-all.  What 
is  it  1 — For  I'm  skimming  the  pot,  and  can't  lave  it. 

[Miss  GALLAGHER  goes  on  dressing. 

Christy.  It's  only  these  apples,  see ! — You'll  make 
me  an  apple-pie,  Biddy,  smart. 

Biddy.  Save  us,  sir ! — And  how  will  I  ever  get  time, 
when  I've  the  hash  to  make  for  them  Scotch  yet  '\  Nor 
can  1  tell,  for  the  life  of  me,  what  it  was  I  did  with  the 
onions  and  scallions  neither,  barring  by  great  luck  they'd 
be  in  and  under  the  press  here — (running  to  look  under 
the  press) — which  they  are,  praised  be  God !  in  the  far 
corner.  [BIDDY  stretches  her  arm  under  the  press. 

Christy.  There's  a  nice  girl,  and  a  'cute  cliver  girl, 
worth  a  dozen  of  your  Ferrinafads. 

[BIDDY  throws  the  onions  out  from  under  the  press,  while 
he  speaks. 

Miss  G.  Then  she's  as  idle  a  girl  as  treads  the  earth, 
in  or  out  of  shoe-leather,  for  there's  my  bed  that  she 
has  not  made  yet,  and  the  stairs  with  a  month's  dust 
always  ;  and  never  ready  by  any  chance  to  do  a  pin's 
worth  for  one,  when  one's  dressing. 

[A  drum  heard ;  the  sound  seems  to  be  approaching  near. 

Christy.  Blood !  the  last  rowl  of  the  drum,  and  I  not 
got  the  kay  of  the  spirits. 

Miss  G.  Oh,  saints  above !  what's  gone  with  my  plaid 
scarf? — and  my  hair  behind,  see ! 

Miss  GALLAGHER  twists  up  her  hair  behind. — BIDDY 
gathers  up  the  onions  into  her  apron,  and  exit  hastily.-— 
CHRISTY  runs  about  the  room  in  a  distracted  manner, 
looking  under  and  over  every  thing,  repeating — The 
kay !  the  kay !  the  kay ! 


198  THE    ROSE,    ETC.; 

Christy.  For  the  whiskey  must  be  had  for  them  Scotch, 
and  the  bottled  beer  too  for  them  English ;  and  how 
•will  I  get  all  or  any  without  the  kay  !  Bones  and  dis- 
traction ! 

Miss  G.  And  my  plain  hanke'cher  that  must  be  had, 
and  where  will  I  find  it,  in  the  name  of  all  the  damons, 
in  this  chaos  you've  made  me  out  of  the  chist,  father  ! 
And  how  will  I  git  all  in  again,  before  the  drum-major's 
in  it? 

Christy,  (sweeping  up  a  heap  of  things  in  his  arms,  and 
throwing  them  into  the  chest)  Very  asy,  sure  !  this  ways. 

Miss  G.  (darting  forward)  There's  the  plaid  han- 
ke'cher.— (She  draws  it  out  from  the  heap  under  her 
father's  arm.  and  smooths  it  on  her  knee)  But,  oh  !  father, 
now  you  are  making  hay  of  my  things ! 

Christy.  Then  I  wish  I  could  make  hay  of  them,  for 
hay  is  much  wanting  for  the  horses  that's  in  it. 

Miss  G.  (putting  on  her  plaid  scarf)  Weary  on  these 
pins !  that  I  can't  stick  any  way  at  all,  my  hands  all 
trimble  so. — Biddy  !  Biddy !  Biddy  !  Biddy,  can't  ye  ? — 
(Re-enter  BIDDY,  looking  betoildered)  Just  pin  me  behind, 
girl — smart 

Christy.  Biddy  is  it? — Biddy,  girl,  come  over  and 
help  me  tramp  down  this  hay. 

[CHRISTY  jumps  into  the  cheat. 

Miss  G.  Oh,  Biddy,  run  and  stop  him,  for  the  love  of 
God !  with  his  brogues  and  big  feet. 

Biddy.  Oh,  marcy  !  that's  too  bad,  sir ;  get  out  o'  that, 
if  you  plase,  or  Miss  Florry  will  go  mad,  sure  !  and  the 
major  that's  coming  up  the  street — Oh,  sir,  if  you 
piase,  in  the  name  of  mercy  ! 

Christy,  (jumping  out)  Why,  then,  sittle  it  all  your- 
self, Biddy,  and  success  to  you ;  but  you'll  no  more  get 
all  in  again  afore  Christmas,  to  the  best  of  my  opinion, 
no  more,  see !  than  you'll  get  bottled  porter,  froth  and  all, 
into  the  bottle  again,  once  it  was  out. 
i  Miss  G.  Such  comparisons  !  (tossing  back  her  head.) 

Christy.  And  caparisons !  (pointing  to  the  finery  on  the 
floor.)  But  in  the  middle  of  it  all,  lend  me  the  poker, 
which  will  answer  for  the  master-kay,  sure  ! — that 
poker  that  is  houlding  up  the  window, — can't  ye, 
Biddy  * 

[Broor  runs  and  pulls  the  poker  hastily  from  under  the 
sash,  which  suddenly  falls,  and  every  pane  of  glass 

falls  out  and  breaks. 


DRAMA.  199 

Christy.  Murder !  and  no  glazier ! 

Miss  G.  Then,  Biddy,  of  all  girls,  alive  or  dead,  you're 
the  awk'ardest,  vulgarest,  unluckiest  to  touch  any  thing 
at  all! 

Biddy,  (picking  tip  the  glass)  I  can't  think  what's  come 
to  the  glass,  that  makes  it  break  so  asy  the  day  !  Sure 
I  done  it  a  hundred  times  the  same,  and  it  never  broke 
wid  me  afore. 

Christy.  Well !  stick  up  a  petticoat,  or  something  of 
the  kind,  and  any  way  lend  me  hould  of  the  poker ;  for 
in  lieu  of  a  kay,  that's  the  only  frind  in  need. 

[Exit  CHRISTY  with  the  poker. 

Miss  G.  There,  Biddy,  that  will  do — anyhow.  Just 
shut  down  the  lid,  can't  ye  1  and  find  me  my  other  shoe. 
Biddy — then,  lave  that, — come  out  o'  that,  do,  girl,  and 
see  the  bed  ! — run  there,  turn  it  up  just  any  way ;  and, 
Biddy,  run  here,  stick  me  this  tortise  comb  in  the  back 
of  my  head — oh!  (screams  and  starts  away  from  BIDDY) 
You  ran  it  fairly  into  my  brain,  you  did !  you're  the 
grossest !  heavy  handiest !  fit  only  to  wait  on  Sheelah 
na  Ghirah,  or  the  like.  (Turns  away  from  BIDDY  with  an 
air  of  utter  contempt.)  But  I'll  go  and  resave  the  major 
properly.  (  Turns  back  as  she  is  going,  and  says  to  BIDDY) 
Biddy,  settle  all  here,  can't  ye  ?  Turn  up  the  bed,  and 
sweep  the  glass  and  dust  in  the  dust  corner,  for  it's  here 
I'm  bringing  him  to  dinner ;  so  settle  up  all  in  a  minute, 
do  you  mind  me,  Biddy !  for  your  life  ! 

[Exit  Miss  GALLAGHER. 

BIDDY,  alone  (speaking  while  she  puts  the  things  in  the  room 
in  order). 

Settle  up  all  in  a  minute  ! — asy  said ! — and  for  my  life, 
too !  Why,  then,  there's  not  a  greater  slave  than  my- 
self in  all  Connaught,  or  the  three  kingdoms ;  from  the 
time  I  get  up  in  the  morning,  and  that's  afore  the  flight 
of  night,  till  I  get  to  my  bed  again  at  night,  and  that's 
never  afore  one  in  the  morning !  But  I  wouldn't  value 
all  one  pin's  point,  if  it  was  kind  and  civil  she  was  to 
me.  But  after  I  strive,  and  strive  to  the  utmost,  and 
beyand  (sighs  deeply) — and  when  I  found  the  innions, 
and  took  the  apple-pie  off  her  hands,  and  settled  her 
behind,  and  all  to  the  best  of  my  poor  ability  for  her, 
after,  to  go  and  call  me  Sheelah  na  Ghirah !  though 
I  dea't  rightly  know  who  that  Sheelah  na  Ghirah  was 


200  THE    ROSE,    ETC.? 

from  Adam — but  still  it's  the  bad  language  I  get  goes  to 
my  heart.  Oh,  if  it  had  but  plased  Heaven  to  have 
cast  me  my  lot  in  the  sarvice  of  a  raal  jantleman  or 
lady  instead  of  the  likes  of  these !  Now,  I'd  rather  be 
a  dog  in  his  honour's  or  her  honour's  house,  than  lie 
under  the  tongue  of  Miss  Gallagher,  as  I  do — to  say 
nothing  of  ould  Christy. 

Miss  GALLAGHER'S  voice  heard  calling, 
Biddy !  Biddy  Doyle  !  Biddy,  can't  ye  ? 

Biddy.  Here,  miss,  in  the  room,  readying  it,  I  am. 

CHRISTY  GALLAGHER'S  voice  heard  calling, 
Biddy!   Biddy  Doyle!   Biddy,  girl!    What's  come  o' 
that  girl,  that's  always  out  o'  the  way   idling,  when 
wanted  ?     Plague  take  her ! 

Biddy.  Saints  above !  hear  him  now !  But  I  scorn  to 
answer. 

Screaming  louder  in  mingled  voices,  CHRISTY'S  and  Miss 
GALLAGHER'S. 

Biddy  !    Biddy  Doyle !     Biddy,  girl ! 

Christy,  (putting  in  his  head)  Biddy !  sorrow  take  ye  . 
are  ye  in  it  ]  And  you  are,  and  we  cracking  our  vitals 
calling  you.  What  is  it  you're  dallying  here  for  ?  Stir ! 
stir !  dinner !  [He  draws  back  his  head  and  exit. 

BIDDY,  alone. 

Coming  then !  Sure  its  making  up  the  room  I  am, 
with  all  speed,  and  the  bed  not  made  after  all !  (Throws 
up  the  press-bed.)  But  to  live  in  this  here  house,  girl  or 
boy,  one  had  need  have  the  lives  of  nine  cats  and  the 
legs  of  forty.  [Exit. 


SCENE  III. 

The  Kitchen  of  the  Inn. 

Miss  FLORINDA  GALLAGHER  and  CHRISTY  GALLAGHER. 
Boys  and  Men  belonging  to  the  Band,  in  the  back  Scene. 

Christy,  (to  the  band)  The  girl's  coming  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible to  get  yees  your  dinners,  jantlemen,  and  sorrow 
better  dinner  than  she'll  give  you:  you'll  get  all  in- 


A   DRAMA.  201 

stantly.  (To  Miss  GALLAGHER.)  And  am  not  I  telling 
you,  Florry,  that  the  drum-major  did  not  come  in  yet  at 
all,  but  went  out  through  the  town,  to  see  and  get  a  billet 
and  bed  for  the  sick  man  they've  got. 

Enter  BIDDY,  stops  and  listens. 

Miss  G.  I  wonder  the  major  didn't  have  the  manners 
to  step  in,  and  spake  to  the  lady  first ;  was  he  an  Irish- 
man, he  would. 

Biddy.  Then  it's  my  wonder  he  wouldn't  step  in  to 
take  his  dinner  first ;  was  he  an  Englishman,  he  would. 
But  it's  lucky  for  me  and  for  him  he  didn't,  becaase  he 
couldn't,  for  it  won't  be  ready  this  three-quarters  of  an 
hour — only  the  Scotch  broth,  which  boiled  over. 

[BIDDY  retires,  and  goes  on  cooking.  CHRISTY  Jills  out  a 
glass  of  spirits  to  each  of  the  band. 

Miss  G.  Since  the  major's  not  in  it,  I'll  not  be  staying 
here ;  for  here's  only  riff-raff  triangle  and  gridiron  boys, 
and  a  black-a-moor,  and  that  I  never  could  stand ;  so 
I'll  back  into  the  room.  Show  the  major  up,  do  you 
mind,  father,  as  soon  as  ever  he'd  come. 

Christy.  Jantlemen  all !  here's  the  king's  health,  and 
confusion  worse  confounded  to  his  enemies,  for  yees ; 
or,  if  ye  like  it  better,  here's  the  plaid  tartan  and  fillibeg 
for  yees,  and  that's  a  comprehensive  toast  will  give  ye 
an  appetite  for  your  dinners.  [They  drink  in  silence. 

Miss  G.  Did  you  hear  me,  father  1 

Christy.  Ay,  ay.     Off  with  ye  ! 

[Exit  Miss  GALLAGHER,  tossing  back  her  head.  CHRISTY 
pours  out  a  glass  of  whiskey  for  himself,  and  with 
appropriate  graces  of  the  elbow  and  little  finger,  swal- 
lows it,  making  faces  of  delight. 

Christy.  Biddy !  Biddy  girl,  ye !  See  the  pig  putting 
in  his  nose ;  keep  him  out,  can't  ye  ? 

Biddy.  Hurrush!  hurrush  !  (Shaking  her  apron.)  Then 
that  pig's  as  sinsible  as  any  Christian,  for  he'd  run  away 
the  minute  he'd  see  me. 

l  Christy.  That's  manners  o'  the  pig.  Put  down  a 
power  more  turf,  Biddy :  see  the  jantlemen's  gathering 
round  the  fire,  and  has  a  right  to  be  could  in  their  knees 
this  St.  Patrick's  day  in  the  morning — for  it's  March, 
that  monies  in  like  a  lion. 

{The  band  during  this  speech  appear  to  be  speaking  to 
BIDDY.     She  comes  forward  to  CHRISTY. 
13 


202  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

Christy.  What  is  it  they  are  whispering  and  conjuring, 
Biddy ? 

Biddy.  'Twas  only  axing  me,  they  were,  could  they 
all  get  beds  the  night  in  it. 

Christy.  Beds  !  ay  can  yees,  and  for  a  dozen  more  ; 
only  the  room  above  is  tinder  in  the  joists,  and  I  would 
not  choose  to  put  more  on  the  floor  than  two  beds,  and 
one  shake-down,  which  will  answer  for  five ;  for  it's  a 
folly  to  talk  ;  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  and  not  a  word  of 
lie.  Wouldn't  it  be  idle  to  put  more  of  yees  in  the 
room  than  it  could  hold,  and  to  have  the  floor  be  coming 
through  the  parlour  ceiling,  and  so  spoil  two  good  rooms 
for  one  night's  bad  rest,  jantlemen  1  Well,  Biddy,  what 
is  it  they're  saying  ? 

Biddy.  They  say  they  don't  understand — can  they 
have  beds  or  not  ? 

Christy.  Why,  body  and  bones !  No,  then,  since  no- 
thing else  will  they  comprehend, — no, — only  five,  say, — 
five  can  sleep  in  it. 

[The  band  divide  into  two  parties.  Five  remain,  and  the 
others  walk  off  in  silence. 

Biddy.  And  it's  into  the  room  you'd  best  walk  up, 
had  not  yees,  five  jantlemen  that  sleep  ] 

[  The  five  walk  into  the  parlour.  CHRISTY  preparing  to 
follow,  carrying  whiskey  bottle  and  jug — turns  back, 
and  says  to  BIDDY, 

Is  it  dumb  they  are  all  ?  or  innocents  ? 

Biddy.  Not  at  all  innocents,  no  more  than  myself  nor 
yourself.  Nor  dumb  neither,  only  that  the  Scotch 
tongue  can't  spake  English  as  we  do. 

Christy.  Oh !  if  that's  all,  after  dinner  the  whiskey- 
punch  will  make  'em  spake,  I'll  engage. 

[Exit  CHRISTY. 

Biddy.  'Tis  I  that  am  glad  they've  taken  themselves 
away,  for  there's  no  cooking  with  all  the  men  in  the 
fire. 

Enter  Mr.  ANDREW  HOPE,  Drum-major. 

Mr.  H.  A  gude  day  to  you,  my  gude  lassy. 
Biddy.  The  same  to  you,  sir,  and  kindly.     I  beg  your 
pardon  for  not  knowing— would  it  be  the  drum-major, 

Mr.  If.  No  offence,  my  gude  lass ;  I  am  Andrew 
Hope,  and  drum-major.  I  met  some  of  my  men  in  the 


A   DRAMA.  203 

street  coming  down,  and  they  told  me  they  could  not 
have  beds  here. 

Biddy.  No,  sir,  plase  your  honour,  only  five  that's  in 
the  room  yonder:  if  you'd  be  plased  to  walk  up,  and 
you'll  get  your  dinner  immediately,  your  honour,  as  fast 
as  can  be  dished,  your  honour. 

•  Mr.  H.  No  hurry,  my  gude  lass.  But  I  would  will- 
ingly see  the  beds  for  my  poor  fellows,  that  has  had  a 
sair  march. 

Biddy.  Why,  then,  if  your  honour  would  take  a 
fool's  advice,  you'd  not  be  looking  at  them  beds,  to  be 
spoiling  your  dinner — since,  good  or  bad,  all  the  looking 
at  'em  in  the  wide  world  won't  mend  'em  one  feather, 
sure. 

Mr.  H.  My  gude  girl,  that's  true.  Still  I'd  like  ever 
to  face  the  worst. 

Biddy.  Then  it's  up  that  ladder  you'll  go. 

Mr.  H.  No  stairs  ? 

Biddy.  Oh,  there  are  stairs — but  they  are  burnt  and 
coming  down,  and  you'll  find  the  ladder  safest  and  best : 
only  mind  the  little  holes  in  the  floor,  if  you  plase,  your 
honour. 

[Ma.  HOPE  ascends  the  ladder  while  she  speaks,  and  goes 
into  the  bed-chamber  above. 

BIDDY,  sola. 

Well,  I'm  ashamed  of  my  life,  when  a  stranger  and 
foreigner's  reviewing  our  house,  though  I'm  only  the 
girl  in  it,  and  no  ways  answerable.  It  frets  me  for  my 
country  forenent  them  Scotch  and  English.  (Mr.  HOPE 
descends  the  ladder.)  Then  I'm  sorry  it's  not  better  for 
your  honour's  self,  and  men.  But  there's  a  new  inn  to 
be  opened  the  25th,  in  this  town ;  and  if  you  return  this 
way,  I  hope  things  will  be  more  agreeable  and  proper. 
But  you'll  have  no  bad  dinner,  your  honour,  any  way  ; 
there's  Scotch  broth,  and  Scotch  hash,  and  fried  eggs 
and  bacon,  and  a  turkey,  and  a  boiled  leg  of  mutton  and 
turnips,  and  pratees  the  best,  and  well  boiled ;  and  I 
hope,  your  honour,  that's  enough  for  a  soldier's  dinner, 
that's  not  nice. 

Mr.  H.  Enough  for  a  soldier's  dinner !  ay,  gude  truth, 
my  lass  ;  and  more  than  enough  for  Andrew  Hope,  who 
is  no  ways  nice.  But,  tell  me,  have  you  no  one  to  help 
you  here,  to  dress  all  this  ? 


204  THE   ROSE,   ETC.  ; 

Biddy.  Sorrow  one  to  do  a  hand's  turn  for  me  but 
myself,  plase  your  honour ;  for  the  daughter  of  the 
house  is  too  fine  to  put  her  hand  to  any  thing  in  life  : 
but  she's  in  the  room  there  within,  beyond,  if  you  would 
like  to  see  her — a  fine  lady  she  is  ! 

Mr.  H.  A  fine  lady,  is  she  ?  Weel,  fine  or  coarse,  I 
shall  like  to  see  her, — and  weel  I  may  and  must,  for  I 
had  a  brother  once  I  luved  as  my  life ;  and  four  years 
back  that  brother  fell  sick  here,  on  his  road  to  the  north, 
and  was  kindly  tended  here  at  the  inn  at  Bannow ;  and 
he  charged  me,  puir  lad,  on  his  death-bed,  if  ever  fate 
should  quarter  me  in  Bannow,  to  inquire  for  his  gude 
friends  at  the  inn,  and  to  return  them  his  thanks ;  and 
so  I'm  fain  to  do,  and  will  not  sleep  till  I've  done  so. 
But  tell  me  first,  my  kind  lassy,  for  I  see  you  are  a  kind 
lassy, — tell  me,  has  not  this  house  had  a  change  of  for- 
tune, and  fallen  to  decay  of  late  1  for  the  inn  at  Bannow 
was  pictured  to  me  as  a  bra'  neat  place. 

Biddy.  Ah!  that  was,  maybe,  the  time  the  Larkens 
had  it  ? 

Mr.  H.  The  Larkens ! — that  was  the  very  name :  it 
warms  my  heart  to  hear  the  sound  of  it. 

Biddy.  Ay,  and  quite  another  sort  of  an  inn  this  was, 
I  hear  talk,  in  their  time, — and  quite  another  guess  sort 
the  Larkens  from  these  Gallaghers. 

Mr.  H.  And  what  has  become  of  the  Larkens,  I  pray  ? 

Biddy.  They  are  still  living  up  yonder,  by  the  bush 
of  Bannow,  in  a  snug  little  place  of  a  cabin — that  is, 
the  widow  Kelly. 

Mr.  H.  Kelly ! — but  I  am  looking  for  Larken. 

Biddy.  Oh,  Larken!  that's  Kelly:  'tis  all  one— she 
was  a  Kelly  before  she  was  married,  and  in  this  country 
we  stick  to  the  maiden's  name  throughout. 

Mr.  H.  The  same  in  our  country — often. 

Biddy.  Indeed !  and  her  daughter's  name  is  Mabel, 
after  the  Kellys  ;  for  you  might  have  noticed,  if  it  ever 
happened  your  honour  to  hear  it,  an  ould  song  of  Mabel 
Kelly — Planxty  Kelly.  Then  the  present  Mabel  is  as 
sweet  a  cratur  as  ever  the  ould  Mabel  Kelly  was — 
but  I  must  mind  the  pratees.  (She  goes  to  lift  a  pot  off 
the  fire.) 

Mr.  H.  Hold !  my  gude  girl,  let  me  do  that  for  you ; 
mine  is  a  strong  haund. 

Biddy.  1  thank  your  honour, — it's  too  much  trouble 
entirely  for  a  jantleman  like  you ;  but  it's  always  the 


A  DRAMA.  205 

best  jantleman  has  the  laste  pride. — Then  them  Kellys 
is  a  good  race,  ould  and  young,  and  I  love  'em,  root  and 
branch.  Besides  Mabel  the  daughter,  there's  Owen  the 
son,  and  as  good  a  son  he  is — no  better  !  He  got  an  edi- 
cation  in  the  beginning,  till  the  troubles  came  across 
his  family,  and  the  boy,  the  child,  for  it's  bare  fifteen  he 
is  this  minute,  give  up  all  his  hopes  and  prospects,  the 
cratur !  to  come  home  and  slave  for  his  mother. 

Mr.  H.  Ah,  that's  weel — that's  weel !  I  luve  the  lad 
that  makes  a  gude  son. — And  is  the  father  deed  ? 

Biddy.  Ay,  dead  and  deceased  he  is,  long  since,  and 
was  buried  just  upon  that  time  that  ould  Sir  Cormac, 
father  of  the  young  heiress  that  is  now  at  the  castle 
above, — the  former  landlord  that  was  over  us,  died,  see ! 
Then  there  was  new  times  and  new  takes,  and  the  widow 
was  turned  out  of  the  inn,  and  these  Gallaghers  got  it, 
and  all  wint  wrong  and  to  rack ;  for  Mrs.  Gallagher, 
that  was,  drank  herself  into  her  grave  unknownst,  for 
it  was  by  herself  in  private  she  took  it ;  and  Christy 
Gallagher,  the  present  man,  is  doing  the  same,  only 
publicly,  and  running  through  all,  and  the  house  is  tum- 
bling over  our  ears :  but  he  hopes  to  get  the  new  inn ; 
and  if  he  does,  why,  he'll  be  lucky — and  that's  all  I 
know,  for  the  dinner  is  done  now,  and  I'm  going  in  with 
it — and  won't  your  honour  walk  up  to  the  room  now  ? 

Mr.  H.  (going  to  the  ladder)  Up  here  "I 

Biddy.  Oh,  it's  not  up  at  all,  your  honour,  sure !  but 
down  here — through  this  ways. 

Mr.  H.  One  word  more,  my  gude  lassy.  As  soon  as 
we  shall  have  all  dined,  and  you  shall  have  ta'en  your 
ane  dinner,  I  shall  beg  of  you,  if  you  be  not  then  too 
much  tired,  to  show  me  the  way  to  that  bush  of  Ban- 
now,  whereat  this  widow  Larken's  cottage  is. 

Biddy.  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  if  I  had  not  a  fut 
to  stand  upon. 

[Exit  Mr.  HOPE. — BIDDY  follows  with  a  dish  smoking  hot. 

Biddy.  And  I  hope  you'll  find  it  an  iligant  Scotch 
hash,  and  there's  innions  plinty — sure  the  best  I  had 
I'd  give  you ;  for  I'm  confident  now  he's  the  true  thing, 
and  tho'  he  is  Scotch,  he  desarves  to  be  Irish,  every 
inch  of  him.  [Exit  BIDDY  DOYLE. 


206  THE    ROSE,    ETC 


ACT  II. 
SCENE  I. 

An  Irish  Cabin. — The  Kitchen. 

Widow  LARKEN.  On  one  side  of  her,  MABEL  at  needle- 
work ;  on  the  other  side,  OWEN  her  son  enters,  bringing  in 
a  spinning-wheel,  which  he  places  before  his  mother- 
Owen.  There,  mother,  is  your  wheel  mended  for  you. 
Mabel.  Oh,  as  good  as  new,  Owen  has  made  it  for 
you. 

Widow.  Well,  whatever  troubles  come  upon  me  in 
this  world,  have  not  I  a  right  to  be  thankful,  that  has 
such  good  childer  left  me  ? — Still  it  grieves  me,  and 
goes  to  the  quick  of  my  heart,  Mabel  dear,  that  your 
brother  here  should  be  slaving  for  me,  a  boy  that  is 
qualified  for  better. 

Owen.  And  what  better  can  I  be  than  working  for  my 
mother — man  or  boy  1 

Mabel.  And  if  he  thinks  it  no  slavery,  what  slavery 
is  it,  mother  ? 

Owen.  Mother,  to-day  is  the  day  to  propose  for  the 
new  inn — I  saw  several  with  the  schoolmaster,  who  was 
as  busy  as  a  bee,  penning  proposals  for  them,  according 
as  they  dictated,  and  framing  letters  and  petitions  for 
Sir  William  Hamden  and  Miss  O'Hara.    Will  you  go 
up  to  the  castle  and  speak,  mother  ? 
Widow.  No,  no — I  can't  speak,  Owen. 
Owen.  Here's  the  pen  and  ink-horn,  and  I'll  sit  me 
down,  if  you'd  sooner  write  than  speak. 

Widow.  See,  Owen,  to  settle  your  mind,  I  would  not 
wish  to  get  that  inn. 

Owen.  Not  wish  to  get  it !  The  new  inn,  mother — 
but  if  you  had  gone  over  it,  as  I  have.  'Tis  the  very 
thing  for  you.  Neat  and  compact  as  a  nutshell ;  not 
one  of  them  grand  inns,  too  great  for  the  place,  that 
never  answers  no  more  than  the  hat  that's  too  big  for 
the  head,  and  that  always  blows  off. 

Widow,  No,  dear,  not  the  thing  for  me,  now  a  widow, 


A   DRAMA.  207 

and  your  sister  Mabel — tho'  'tis  not  for  me  to  say — such 
a  likely,  fine  girl.  I'd  not  be  happy  to  have  her  in  a 
public-house — so  many  of  all  sorts  that  would  be  in  it, 
and  drinking,  maybe,  at  fairs  and  funerals,  and  no  man 
of  the  house,  nor  master,  nor  father  for  her. 

Owen.  Sure,  mother,  I'm  next  to  a  father  for  her. 
Amn't  I  a  brother!  and  no  brother  ever  loved  a  sister 
better,  or  was  more  jealous  of  respect  for  her ;  and  if 
you'd  be  pleasing,  I  could  be  man  and  master  enough. 

Widow,  (laughing)  You,  ye  dear  slip  of  a  boy ! 

Owen,  (proudly  and  raising  his  head  high)  Slip  of  a 
boy  as  I  am  then,  and  little  as  you  think  of  me — 

Widow.  Oh,  I  think  a  great  deal  of  you  !  only  I  can't 
think  you  big  nor  old,  Owen,  can  1 1 

Owen.  No — nor  any  need  to  be  big  or  old,  to  keep 
people  of  all  sorts  in  respect,  mother. 

Widow.  Then  he  looked  like  his  father — did  not  he, 
Mabel  ? 

Mabel.  He  did — God  bless  him ! 

Owen.  Now  hear  me,  mother,  for  I'm  going  to  speak 
sense.  You  need  not  listen,  Mabel. 

Mabel.  But  it's  what  I  like  to  listen  to,  sense, — espe- 
cially yours,  Owen. 

Owen.  Then  I  can't  help  it. — You  must  hear,  even  if 
you  blush  for  it. 

Mabel.  Why  would  I  blush  I 

Owen.  Because  you  won't  be  able  to  help  it,  when  I 
say  Mr.  Gilbert. — See ! 

Mabel.  Oh,  dear  Owen !  that's  not  fair.  (She  falls  back 
a  little.) 

Owen.  Well,  mother,  it's  with  you  I'm  reasoning.  If 
he  was  your  son-in-law — 

Widow.  Hush !  that  he'll  never  be.  Now,  Owen,  I'll 
grow  angry  if  you  put  nonsense  in  the  girl's  head. 

Owen.  But  if  it's  in  the  man's  head,  it's  not  a  bit 
nonsense. 

Mabel.  Owen,  you  might  well  say  I  shouldn't  listen 
to  you.  [Exit  Mabel. 

Widow.  There  now,  you've  drove  your  sister  off. 

Owen.  Well,  Gilbert  will  bring  her  on  again,  maybe. 

Widow.  Maybe — but  that  maybe  of  yours  might  lead 
us  all  wrong. 

[She  lays  her  hand  on  OWEN'S  arm,  and  speaks  in  a 
serious  tone. 


THE   ROSE,   ETC.; 

Widow.  Now,  dear,  don't  be  saying  one  word  more 
to  her,  lest  it  should  end  in  a  disappointment. 

Owen.  Still  it  is  my  notion  'tis  Mabel  he  loves. 

Widow.  Oh!  what  should  you  know,  dear,  o'  the 
matter  ? 

Given.  Only  having  eyes  and  ears  like  another. 

Widow.  Then  what  hinders  him  to  speak  ? 

Owen.  It's  bashfulness  only,  mother.  Don't  you  know 
what  that  is  ? 

Widow.  1  do,  dear.  It's  a  woman  should  know  that 
best.  And  it  is  not  Mabel,  nor  a  daughter  of  mine,  nor 
a  sister  of  yours,  Owen,  should  be  more  forward  to 
understand  than  the  man  is  to  speak — was  the  man  a 
prince. 

Owen.  Mother,  you  are  right ;  but  I'm  not  wrong 
neither.  And  since  I'm  to  say  no  more,  I'm  gone,  mother. 

[Exit  OWEN. 

Widow,  (alone)  Now  who  could  blame  that  boy,  what- 
ever he  does  or  says  ?  It's  all  heart  he  is,  and  wouldn't 
hurt  a  fly,  except  from  want  of  thought.  But,  stay 
now,  I'm  thinking  of  them  soldiers  that  is  in  town. 
(Sighs.)  Then  I  didn't  sleep  since  ever  they  come ; 
but  whenever  I'd  be  sinking  to  rest,  starting  and  fancy- 
ing I  heard  the  drum  for  Owen  to  go.  (A  deep  groaning 
sigh.)  Och !  and  then  the  apparition  of  Owen  in  regi- 
mentals was  afore  me ! 

Enter  OWEN,  dancing  and  singing. 

"  Success  to  my  brains,  and  success  to  my  tongue — 
Success  to  myself,  that  never  was  wrong !" 

Widow.  What  is  it!  What  ails  the  boy?  Are  ye 
mad,  Owen? 

Owen,  (capering  and  snapping  his  fingers)  Ay,  mad ! 
mad  with  joy  I  am.  And  it's  joy  I  give  you,  and  joy 
you'll  give  me,  mother  darling.  The  new  inn's  yours, 
and  no  other's,  and  Gilbert  is  your  own  too,  and  no 
other's — but  Mabel's  for  life.  And  is  not  there  joy 
enough  for  you,  mother  ? 

Widow.  Joy ! — Oh,  too  much !     (She  sinks  on  a  seat.) 

Owen.  I've  been  too  sudden  for  her ! 

Widow.  No,  dear — not  a  bit,  only  just  give  me  time 
— to  feel  it.  And  is  it  true  1  And  am  I  in  no  dream 
now  ?  And  where's  Mabel,  dear  1 


A   DRAMA.  209 

Owen.  Gone  to  the  well,  and  Gilbert  with  her.  We 
met  her,  and  he  turned  off  with  her,  and  I  come  on  to 
tell  you,  mother  dear. 

Widow.  Make  me  clear  and  certain;  for  I'm  slow  and 
weak,  dear.  Who  told  you  all  this  good  ]  and  is  it 
true  1 — And  my  child  Mabel  mavourneen  ! — Oh,  tell  me 
again  it's  true. 

Owen.  True  as  life.  But  your  lips  is  pale  still,  and 
you  all  in  a  tremble.  So  lean  on  me,  mother  dear,  and 
come  out  into  God's  open  air,  till  1  see  your  spirit  come 
back — and  here's  your  bonnet,  and  we'll  meet  Mabel 
and  Gilbert,  and  we'll  all  go  up  to  the  castle  to  give 
thanks  to  the  lady.  • 

Widow,  (looking  up  to  heaven)  Thanks !  Oh,  haven't 
I  great  reason  to  be  thankful,  if  ever  widow  had ! 

[Exeunt,  WIDOW  leaning  on  OWEN. 


SCENE  II. 

An  Apartment  in  Bannow  Castle. 
Footmen  bringtng  in  Baskets  of  Flowers. 
Miss  O'HARA  and  Sir  WILLIAM  HAMDEN. 

Clara.  Now,  my  dear  uncle,  I  want  to  consult  you. 

Sir  W.  And  welcome,  my  child.  But  if  it  is  about 
flowers,  you  could  not  consult  a  worse  person,  for  I 
scarcely  know  a  rose  from  a — What  is  this  you  have 
here — a  thistle1? 

Clara.  Yes,  sir ;  and  that  is  the  very  thing  I  want 
your  opinion  about. 

Sir  W.  Well,  my  dear,  all  I  know  about  thistles,  I 
think,  is,  that  asses  love  thistles — will  that  do  1 

Clara.  O  no,  sir — pray  be  serious,  for  I  am  in  the 
greatest  hurry  to  settle  how  it  is  all  to  be.  You  know 
it  is  St.  Patrick's  day. 

Sir  W.  Yes,  and  here  is  plenty  of  shamrock,  I  see. 

Clara.  Yes,  here  is  the  shamrock — the  rose,  the  ever- 
blowing  rose — and  the  thistle.  And  as  we  are  to 
have  Scotch,  English,  and  Irish  at  our  little  fete-cham- 
petre  this  evening,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  pretty  to 
have  the  tents  hung  with  the  rose,  thistle,  and  shamrock 
joined  1: 

Sir  W.  Very  pretty,  my  dear :  and  I  am  glad  there 


210  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

are  to  be  tents,  otherwise  a  fete  champetre  in  the 
month  of  March  would  give  me  the  rheumatism  even  to 
think  of. 

Clara.  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  not  at  all.  You  will  be  snug 
and  warm  in  the  green- house. 

Sir  W.  Well,  Clara,  dispose  of  me  as  you  please — I 
am  entirely  at  your  service  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 

Clara.  Thank  you,  sir — you  are  the  best  of  uncles, 
guardians,  and  friends. 

[Miss  O'HARA  goes  back  and  appears  to  be  giving  direc- 
tions to  the  servants. 

Sir  W.  Uncle  nature  made  me — guardian  your  father 
made  me — friend  you  made  me  .yourself,  Clara.  (Sir 
WILLIAM  comes  forward  and  speaks  as  if  in  a  revery.) 
And  evermore  my  friendship  for  her  shall  continue, 
though  my  guardianship  is  over.  I  am  glad  I  conquered 
my  indolence,  and  came  to  Ireland  with  her ;  for  a  cool 
English  head  will  be  wanting  to  guide  that  warm  Irish 
heart.  And  here  I  stand  counsel  for  prudence  against 
generosity. 

Clara,  (advancing  to  him  playfully)  A  silver  penny  for 
your  thoughts,  uncle. 

Sir  W.  Shall  I  never  teach  you  economy  ] — such  ex- 
travagance !  to  give  a  penny,  and  a  silver  penny,  for 
what  you  may  have  for  nothing ! 

Clara.  Nothing  can  come  of  nothing — speak  again. 

Sir  W.  I  was  thinking  of  you,  my — ward  no  longer. 

Clara.  Ward  always,  pray,  sir.  Whatever  I  may  be 
in  the  eye  of  the  law,  I  am  not  arrived  at  years  of  dis- 
cretion yet,  in  my  own  opinion,  nor  in  yours  I  suspect. 
So  I  pray  you,  uncle,  let  me  still  have  the  advantage  of 
your  counsel  and  guidance. 

Sir  W.  You  ask  for  my  advice,  Clara.  Now  let  me 
see  whether  you  will  take  it. 

Clara.  I  am  all  attention. 

Sir  W.  You  know  you  must  allow  me  a  little  prosing. 
You  are  an  heiress,  Clara — a  rich  heiress — an  Irish 
heiress.  You  desire  to  do  good,  don't  you  ? 

Clara,  (with,  eagerness)  With  all  my  heart ! — with  all 
my  soul ! 

Sir  W.  That  is  not  enough,  Clara.  You  must  not 
only  desire  to  do  good,  you  must  know  how  to  do  it. 

Clara.  Since  you,  uncle,  know  that  so  well,  you  will 
teach  it  to  me. 

-Sir  W.  Dear,  flattering  girl — but  you  shall  not  flatter 


A   DRAMA.  211 

me  out  of  the  piece  of  advice  I  have  ready  for  you. 
Promise  me  two  things. 

Clara.  And  first,  for  your  first. 

Sir  W.  Finish  whatever  you  begin. — Good  beginnings, 
it  is  said,  make  good  endings,  but  great  beginnings  often 
make  little  endings,  or,  in  this  country,  no  endings  at  all. 
Finis  coronal  opus — and  that  crown  is  wanting  wherever 
I  turn*  my  eyes.  Of  the  hundred  magnificent  things 
your  munificent  father  began — 

Clara,  (interrupting)  Oh,  sir,  spare  my  father ! — I 
promise  you  that  /  will  finish  whatever  I  begin.  What's 
your  next  command  1 

Sir  W.  Promise  me  that  you  will  never  make  a  prom- 
ise to  a  tenant,  nor  any  agreement  about  business,  but 
in  writing — and  empower  me  to  say  that  you  will  never 
keep  any  verbal  promise  about  business — then,  none 
such  will  ever  be  claimed. 

Clara.  I  promise  you — Stay ! — this  is  a  promise  about 
business  :  I  must  give  it  to  you  in  writing. 

[Miss  O'HARA  sits  down  to  a  writing-table,  and  writes. 

Sir  W.  (looking  out  of  the  window)  I  hope  I  have  been 
early  enough  in  giving  this  my  second  piece  of  advice, 
worth  a  hundred  sequins — for  I  see  the  yard  is  crowded 
with  gray-coated  suitors,  and  the  table  here  is  already 
covered  with  letters  and  petitions. 

Clara.  Yes,  uncle,  but  I  have  not  read  half  of  them 
yet. 

[Presents  the  written  promise  to  Sir  WILLIAM. 

Sir  W.  Thank  you,  my  dear  ;  and  you  will  be  thank- 
ful to  me  for  this  when  I  am  dead  and  gone. 

Clara.  And  while  you  are  alive  and  here,  if  you 
please,  uncle.  Now,  sir,  since  you  are  so  kind  as  to 
say  that  your  time  is  at  my  disposal,  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  come  with  me  to  these  gray-coated  suitors, 
and  let  us  give  answers  to  these  poor  petitioners,  who, 
"  as  in  duty  bound,  will  ever  pray." 

[Takes  up  a  bundle  of  papers. 

Sir  W.  (taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket)  First,  my  dear 
niece,  I  must  add  to  the  number.  I  have  a  little  busi- 
ness. A  petition  to  present  from  a  proteg£  of  mine. 

Clara.  A  protege  of  yours ! — Then  it  is  granted,  what- 
ever it  be. 

Sir  W.  (smiling)  Recollect  your  promise,  Clara. 

Clara.  Oh,  true — it  must  be  in  writing. 


212  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

[She  goes  hastily  to  the  writing-table,  and  takes  up  a 
pen. 

Sir  W.  Read  before  you  write,  my  dear— I  insist 
upon  it. 

Clara.  Oh,  sir,  when  it  is  a  request  of  yours,  how  can 
I  grant  it  soon  enough  i  But  it  shall  be  done  in  the 
way  you  like  best — slowly — deliberately — (opening  the 
letter) — in  minuet  time.  And  I  will  look  befoi'e  I  leap 
— and  I'll  read  before  I  write.  (She  reads  the  signature.) 
Gilbert — Honest  Gilbert,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  do  any 
thing  for  you,  independently  of  your  master !  (Reads 
on,  suddenly  lets  the  letter  drop,  and  clasps  her  hands.) 
Sir — Uncle,  my  dear  uncle,  how  unfortunate  I  am ! 
Why  did  not  you  ask  me  an  hour  ago  1 — Within  this 
hour  I  have  promised  the  new  inn  to  another  person. 

Sir  W.  Indeed ! — that  is  unfortunate.  My  poor  Gil- 
bert will  be  sadly  disappointed. 

Clara.  How  vexed  I  am  !  But  I  never  should  have 
thought  of  Gilbert  for  the  inn:  I  fancied  he  disliked 
Ireland  so  much  that  he  would  never  have  settled  here. 

Sir  W.  So  thought  I  till  this  morning.  But  love,  my 
dear — love  is  lord  of  all.  Poor  Gilbert ! 

Clara.  Poor  Gilbert ! — I  am  so  sorry  I  did  not  know 
this  sooner.  Of  all  people,  I  should  for  my  own  part 
have  preferred  Gilbert  for  the  inn,  he  would  have  kept 
it  so  well. 

Sir  W.  He  would  so.     (Sighs.) 

Clara.  I  do  so  blame  myself — I  have  been  so  precipi- 
tate, so  foolish,  so  wrong — without  consulting  you 
even. 

Sir  W.  Nay,  my  dear,  I  have  been  as  wrong,  as 
foolish,  as  precipitate  as  you ;  for  before  I  consulted 
you,  I  told  Gilbert  that  I  could  almost  promise  that  he 
should  have  the  inn  inconsequence  of  my  recommenda- 
tion. And  upon  the  strength  of  that  almost  he  is  gone 
a  courting.  My  dear,  we  are  both  a  couple  of  fools ; 
but  I  am  an  old — you  are  a  young  one.  There  is  a  wide 
difference — let  that  comfort  you. 

Clara.  Oh,  sir,  nothing  comforts  me,  I  am  so  provoked 
with  myself;  and  you  will  be  so  provoked  with  me, 
•when  I  tell  you  how  silly  I  have  been. 

Sir  W.  Pray  tell  me. 

Clara.  Would  you  believe  that  I  have  literally  given 
it  for  a  song  ?  A  man  sent  me  this  morning  a  copy  of 
verses  to  the  heiress  of  Bannow.  The  verses  struck 


A   DRAMA.  213 

my  fancy — I  suppose  because  they  flattered  me ;  and 
with  the  verses  came  a  petition  setting  forth  claims, 
and  a  tenant's  right,  and  fair  promises,  and  a  proposal 
for  the  new  inn ;  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper  I  rashly 
wrote  these  words — "  The  poefs  petition  is  granted."" 

Sir  W.  A  promise  in  writing,  too ! — My  dear  Clara,  I 
cannot  flatter  you — this  certainly  is  not  a  wise  transac- 
tion. So,  to  reward  a  poet,  you  made  him  an  innkeeper. 
Well,  I  have  known  wiser  heads,  to  reward  a  poet, 
make  him  an  exciseman. 

Clara.  But,  sir,  I  am  not  quite  so  silly  as  they  were, 
for  I  did  not  make  the  poet  an  innkeeper — he  is  one 
already. 

Sir  W.  An  innkeeper  already! — Who  do  you  mean? 

Clara.  A  man  with  a  strange  name — or  a  name  that 
will  sound  strange  to  your  English  ears — Christy  Gal- 
lagher. 

Sir  W.  A  rogue  and  a  drunken  dog,  I  understand: 
but  he  is  a  poet,  and  knows  how  to  flatter  the  heiress 
of  Bannow. 

Clara,  (striking  her  forehead?)  Silly,  silly  Clara ! 

Sir  W.  (changing  his  tone  from  irony  to  kindness) 
Come,  my  dear  Clara,  I  will  not  torment  you  any  more. 
You  deserve  to  have  done  a  great  deal  of  mischief  by 
your  precipitation ;  but  I  believe  this  time  you  have 
done  little  or  none,  at  least  none  that  is  irremediable  ; 
and  you  have  made  Gilbert  happy,  I  hope  and  believe, 
though  without  intending  it. 

Clara.  My  dear  uncle,  you  set  my  heart  at  ease — but 
explain. 

Sir  W.  Then,  my  dear,  I  shrewdly  suspect  that  the 
daughter  of  this  Christy  What-do-you-call-him  is  the  lady 
of  Gilbert's  thoughts. 

Clara.  I  see  it  all  in  an  instant.  That's  delightful ! 
We  can  pension  off  the  drunken  old  father,  and  Gilbert 
and  the  daughter  will  keep  the  inn.  Gilbert  is  in  the 
green-house,  preparing  the  coloured  lamps — let  us  go 
and  speak  to  him  this  minute,  and  settle  it  all. 

Sir  W.  Speak  to  him  of  his  loves  ?  Oh,  my  dear, 
you'd  kill  him  on  the  spot !  He  is  so  bashful,  he'd  blush 
to  death. 

Clara.  Well,  sir,  do  you  go  alone,  and  I  will  keep  far, 
far  aloof.  [Exeunt  at  opposite  sides. 


214  THE   ROSE,    ETC.} 

SCENE  III. 

Parlour  of  the  Inn. 
CHRISTY  and  Miss  GALLAGHER. 

Christy,  (to  Miss  GALLAGHER,  slapping  her  on  her  back) 
Hould  up  your  head,  child ;  there's  money  bid  for  you. 

Miss  G.  Lord,  father,  what  a  thump  on  the  back  to 
salute  one  with.  Well,  sir,  and  if  money  is  bid  for  me, 
no  wonder :  I  suppose  its  because  I  have  money. 

Christy.  That's  all  the  rason— you've  hit  it,  Florry. 
It's  money  that  love  always  looks  for  now.  So  you 
may  be  proud  to  larn  the  news  I  have  for  you,  which 
will  fix  Mr.  Gilbert,  your  bachelor,  for  life,  I'll  engage 
— and  make  him  speak  out,  you'll  see  afore  night-fall. 
We  have  the  new  inn,  dear ! — I've  got  the  promise  here 
under  her  own  handwriting. 

Miss  G.  Indeed ! — Well,  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  glad  to 
get  out  of  this  hole,  which  is  not  fit  for  a  rat  or  a  Chris- 
tian to  live  in — and  I'll  have  my  music  and  my  piano  iu 
the  back  parlour,  genteel. 

Christy.  Oh,  Ferrinafad,  are  you  there  1  It's  your 
husband  must  go  to  that  expinse,  my  precious,  if  he 
chooses,  twingling  and  tweedling,  instead  of  the  puddings 
and  apple-pies — that  you'll  settle  betwix  yees  ;  and  in 
the  honeymoon,  no  doubt,  you've  cunning  enough  to 
compass  that,  and  more. 

Miss  G.  To  be  sure,  sir,  and  before  I  come  to  the 
honeymoon,  I  promise  you  ;  for  1  won't  become  part  or 
parcel  of  any  man  that  ever  wore  a  head,  except  he's 
music  in  his  soul  enough  to  allow  me  my  piano  in  the 
back  parlour. 

Christy.  Asy !  asy !  Ferrinafad — don't  be  talking 
about  the  piano-forte,  till  you  are  married.  Don't  be 
showing  the  halter  too  soon  to  the  shy  horse — it's 
with  the  sieve  of  oats  you'll  catch  him ;  and  his  head 
once  in  the  sieve,  you  have  the  halter  on  him  clane. 
Pray,  after  all,  tell  me,  Florry,  the  truth — did  Mr.  Gil- 
bert ever  ax  you  ? 

Miss  G.  La,  sir,  what  a  coarse  question.  His  eyes 
have  said  as  much  a  million  of  times. 

Christy.  That's  good — but  not  in  law,  dear.     For,  see, 


A    DRAMA.  215 

you  could  not  shue  a  man  in  the  four  courts  for  a  breach 
of  promise  made  only  with  the  eyes,  jewel.  It  must  be 
with  the  tongue  afore  witness,  mind,  or  under  the  hand, 
sale,  or  mark — look  to  that. 

Miss  G.  But,  dear  sir,  Mr.  Gilbert  is  so  tongue-tied 
with  that  English  bashfulness. 

Christy.  Then  Irish  impudence  must  cut  the  string 
of  that  tongue,  Florry.  Lave  that  to  me,  unless  you'd 
rather  yourself. 

Miss  G.  Lord,  sir — what  a  rout  about  one  man,  when, 
if  I  please,  I  might  have  a  dozen  lovers. 

Christy.  Be  the  same  more  or  less.  But  one  rich 
bachelor's  worth  a  dozen  poor,  that  is,  for  the  article  of 
a  husband. 

Miss  G.  And  I  dare  say  the  drum-major  is  rich  enough, 
sir — for  all  Scotchmen,  they  say,  is  fond  of  money  and 
economic  ;  and  I'd  rather,  after  all,  be  the  lady  of  a  mili- 
tary man.  (Sings.) 

''  111  live  no  more  at  home,  ; 

But  I'll  follow  with  the  drum, 
And  I'll  be  the  captain's  lady,  oh !" 

Christy.  Florry !  Florry !  mind  you  would  not  fall 
between  two  stools,  and  nobody  to  pity  you. 

Enter  BIDDY. 

Miss  G.  Well,  what  is  it  * 

Biddy.  The  bed.  I  was  seeing  was  the  room  empty, 
that  I  might  make  it ;  for  it's  only  turned  up  it  is,  when 
I  was  called  off  to  send  in  dinner.  So  I  believe  I'd  best 
make  it  now,  for  the  room  will  be  wanting  for  the  tea- 
drinking,  and  what  not. 

Miss  G.  Ay,  make  the  bed  do,  sure  it's  asy,  and  no 
more  about  it ;  you've  talked  enough  about  it  to  make 
twenty  beds,  one  harder  nor  the  other, — if  talk  would 
do.  (BIDDY  goes  to  make  the  bed.)  And  I'm  sure  there's 
not  a  girl  in  the  parish  does  less  in  the  day,  for  all  the 
talk  you  keep.  Now  I'll  just  tell  all  you  didn't  do,  that 
you  ought  this  day,  Biddy. 

[  While  Miss  GALLAGHER  is  speaking  to  BIDDY  Mr.  GAL- 
LAGHER opens  a  press,  pours  out,  and  swallows  a  dram. 

Christy.  Oh,  that  would  be  too  long  telling,  Florry — 
and  that'll  keep  cool.  Lave  her  now,  and  you  may  take 
your  scould  out  another  time.  I  want  to  spake  to  you. 


216  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 

What's  this  I  wanted  to  say  1  My  memory's  confusing 
itself.  Oh,  this  was  it — I  didn't  till  you  how  I  got 
this  promise  of  the  inn :  I  did  it  nately — I  got  it  for  a 
song. 

Miss  G.  You're  joking, — and  I  believe,  sir,  you're  not 
over  and  above  sober.  There's  a  terrible  strong  smell 
of  the  whiskey. 

Christy.  No,  the  whiskey's  not  strong,  dear,  at-all-at- 
all ! — You  may  keep  smelling  what  way  you  plase,  but 
I'm  as  sober  as  a  judge,  still, — and,  drunk  or  sober, 
always  knows  and  knewed  on  which  side  my  bread  was 
buttered :  got  it  for  a  song,  I  tell  you — a  bit  of  a  com- 
plimentary, adulatory  scroll,  that  the  young  lady  fancied 
— and  she,  slap-dash,  Lord  love  her,  and  keep  her  always 
so !  writes  at  the  bottom,  granted  the  poet's  petition. 

Miss  G.  And  where  on  earth,  then,  did  you  get  that 
song? 

Christy.  Where  but  in  my  brains  should  I  get  it  ?  I 
could  do  that  much  any  way,  I  suppose,  though  it  was 
not  my  luck  to  be  edicated  at  Ferrinafad. 

[Miss  GALLAGHER  looks  back,  and  sees  BIDDY  behind  her. 
Miss  GALLAGHER  gives  her  a  box  on  the  ear. 

Miss  G.  Manners !  that's  to  teach  ye. 

Biddy.  Manners ! — Where  would  I  larn  them — when 
I  was  only  waiting  the  right  time  to  ax  you  what  I'd  do 
for  a  clane  pillow-case  ? 

Miss  G.  Why,  turn  that  you  have  inside  out,  and  no 
more  about  it. 

Christy.  And  turn  yourself  out  of  this,  if  you  plase. 
(He  turns  BIDDY  out  by  the  shoulders.)  Let  me  hear  you 
singing  Baltiorum  in  the  kitchen,  for  security  that  you're 
not  hearing  my  sacrets.  There,  she's  singing  it  now, 
and  we're  snug ;  tell  me  when  she  stops,  and  I'll  stop 
myself. 

Miss  G.  Then  there's  the  girl  has  ceased  singing. 
There's  somebody's  come  in,  into  the  kitchen ;  maybe 
it's  the  drum-major.  I'll  go  and  see. 

[Exit  Miss  GALLAGHER. 

CHRISTY,  solus. 

There,  she's  off  now !  And  I  must  after  her,  else  she'll 
spoil  her  market,  and  my  own.  But  look  ye,  now — if  I 
shouldn't  find  her  agreeable  to  marry  this  Mr.  Gilbert, 
the  man  I've  laid  out  for  her,  why  here's  a  good  stick 


A   DRAMA.  217 

that  will  bring  her  to  rason  in  the  last  resort ;  for  there's 
no  other  way  of  rasoning  with  Ferrinafad. 

[Exit  CHRISTT. 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Garden  of  the  Widow  LJLRKEN'S  Cottage. 
OWEN  and  MABEL. 

Owen.  How  does  my  mother  bear  the  disappointment, 
Mabel,  about  the  inn  T 

Mabel.  Then  to  outward  appearance  she  did  not  take 
it  so  much  to  heart  as  I  expected  she  would.  But  I'm 
sure  she  frets  inwardly — because  she  had  been  in  such 
hopes,  and  in  sucli  spirits,  and  so  proud  to  think  how 
well  her  children  would  all  be  settled. 

Owen.  Oh,  how  sorry  I  am  1  told  her  in  that  hurry  the 
good  news  I  heard,  and  all  to  disappoint  her  afterward, 
and  break  her  heart  with  it. 

Mabel.  No,  she  has  too  good  a  heart  to  break  for  the 
likes.  She'll  hold  up  again  after  the  first  disappoint- 
ment— she'll  struggle  on  for  our  sakes,  Owen. 

Owen.  She  will :  but,  Mabel  dearest,  what  do  you  think 
of  Gilbert  ? 

Mabel,  (turning  away)  I  strive  not  to  think  of  him 
at  all. 

Owen.  But  sure  I  was  not  wrong  there — he  told  me 
as  much  as  that  he  loved  you. 

Mabel.  Then  he  never  told  me  that  much. 

Owen.  No !  What,  not  when  he  walked  with  you  to 
the  well  T 

Mabel.  No.     What  made  you  think  he  did  ? 

Owen.  Why,  the  words  he  said  about  you  when  he 
met  me  was — where's  your  sister  Mabel  ?  Gone  to  the 
well,  Gilbert,  says  I.  And  do  you  think  a  man  that  has 
a  question  to  ask  her  might  make  bold  to  step  after  her? 
says  he.  Such  a  man  as  you — why  not]  says  I.  Then 
he  stood  still,  and  twirled  a  rose  he  held  in  his  hand,  and 
he  said  nothing,  and  1  no  more,  till  he  stooped  down, 
and  from  the  grass  where  we  stood  pulled  a  sprig  of 
clover.  Is  not  this  what  you  call  shamrock  ]  says  he, 
It  is,  says  I.  Then  he  puts  the  shamrock  along  with  the 
rose — How  would  that  do  ?  says  he. 

VOL.  XVI.— K 


218  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

Mabel.  Did  he  say  that,  Owen  T 

Owen.  Yes,  or  how  would  they  look  together  1  or, 
yrould  they  do  together  T  or  some  words  that  way  ;  I 
can't  be  particular  to  the  word — you  know,  he  speaks 
different  from  us  ;  but  that  surely  was  the  sense  ;  and  I 
minded,  too,  he  blushed  up  to  the  roots,  and  I  pitied  him, 
and  answered — 

Mabel.  Oh,  what  did  you  answer! 

Owen.  I  answered  and  said,  I  thought  they'd  do  very 
well  together ;  and  that  it  was  good  when  the  Irish  sham- 
rock and  the  English  rose  was  united. 

Mabel,  (hiding  her  face  with  her  hands)  Oh  Owen,  that 
was  too  plain. 

Owen.  Plain !  Not  at  all — it  was  not.  It's  only  your 
tenderness  makes  you  feel  it  too  plain — for,  listen  to  me, 
Mabel.  (Taking  her  hand  from  her  face.)  Sure,  if  it  had 
any  meaning  particular,  it's  as  strong  for  Miss  Gallagher 
as  for  anybody  else. 

Mabel.  That's  true :  and  maybe  it  was  that  way  he 
took  it — and  maybe  it  was  her  he  was  thinking  of — 

Owen.  When  he  asked  me  for  you  ?  But  I'll  not  mis- 
lead you — I'll  say  nothing ;  for  it  was  a  shame  he  did 
not  speak  out,  after  all  the  encouragement  he  got  from 
me. 

Mabel.  Then  did  he  get  encouragement  from  you  ? 

Owen.  That  is — (smiling) — taking  it  the  other  way,  he 
might  understand  it  so,  if  he  had  any  conscience-.  Come 
now,  Mabel,  when  he  went  to  the  well,  what  did  he  say 
to  you  1  for  I  am  sure  he  said  something. 

Mabel.  Then  he  said  nothing — but  just  put  the  rose 
and  shamrock  into  my  hand. 

Owen.  O  !  did  he  1 — And  what  did  you  say  ? 

Mabel.  I  said  nothing. — What  could  I  say  * 

Owen.  I  wish  I'd  been  with  you,  Mabel. 

Mabel.  I'm  glad  you  were  not,  Owen. 

Owen.  Well,  what  did  he  say  next  1 

Mabel.  I  tell  you  he  said  nothing,  but  cleared  his  throat 
and  hemmed,  as  he  does  often. 

Owen.  What,  all  the  way  to  the  well  and  back,  nothing 
but  hem,  and  clear  his  throat  1 

Mabel.  Nothing  in  life. 

Owen.  Why,  then,  the  man's  a  fool  or  a  rogue 

Mabel.  Oh,  don't  say  that,  any  way.  But  there's  my 
mother  coming  in  from  the  field.  How  weak  she  walks  ! 
I  must  go  in  to  bear  her  company  spinning. 


A    DRAMA.  219 

Owen.  And  I'll  be  in  by  the  time  I've  settled  all 
here.  [Exit  MABEL. 

OWEN,  solus. 

Oh!  I  know  how  keenly  Mabel  feels  all,  tho'  she 
speaks  so  mild.  Then  I'm  cut  to  the  heart  by  this  be- 
haviour of  Gilbert's  :  sure  he  could  not  be  so  cruel  to  be 
jesting  with  her ! — he's  an  Englishman,  and  maybe  he 
thinks  no  harm  to  jilt  an  Irishwoman.  But  I'll  show 
him — but  then  if  he  never  asked  her  the  question,  how 
can  we  say  any  thing  1 — Oh !  the  thing  is,  he's  a  snug 
man,  and  money's  at  the  bottom  of  all, — and  since 
Christy's  to  have  the  new  inn,  and  Miss  Gallagher  has 
the  money ! — Well,  it's  all  over,  and  I  don't  know  what 
will  become  of  me. 

Enter  Mr.  ANDREW  HOPE. 

Mr.  H.  My  gude  lad,  may  your  name  be  Larken  1 

Owen.  It  is,  sir — Owen  Larken,  at  your  service — the 
son  of  the  widow  Larken. 

Mr.  H.  Then  I  have  to  thank  your  family  for  their 
goodness  to  my  puir  brother,  years  ago.  And  for  your- 
self, your  friend  Mr.  Christy  Gallagher  has  been  telling 
me  you  can  play  the  bugle. 

Owen.  I  can,  sir. 

Mr.  H.  And  we  want  a  bugle,  and  the  pay  's  fifteen 
guineas ;  and  I'd  sooner  give  it  to  you  than  three  others 
that  has  applied,  if  you'll  list. 

Owen.  Fifteen  guineas !  Oh !  if  I  could  send  that 
money  home  to  my  mother!  but  I  must  ask  her  con- 
sent. Sir,  she  lives  convenient,  just  in  this  cabin  here 
— would  you  be  pleased  to  step  in  with  me,  and  I'll  ask 
her  consent. 

Mr.  H.  That's  right — lead  on,  my  douce  lad — you  ken 
the  way.  [Exeunt. 

K2 


220  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 

SCENE  V. 

Kitchen  of  the  Widow  LARKEN'S  Cottage. 

A  Door  is  seen  open,  into  an  inner  Room* 

MABEL,  alone, 

(Sitting  near  the  door  of  the  inner  room,  spinning  and 
singing.)* 

Sleep,  mother,  sleep !  in  slumber  blest, 

It  joys  my  heart  to  see  thee  rest. 
TJnfelt  in  sleep  thy  load  of  sorrow; 
Breathe  free  and  thoughtless  of  to-morrow ; 
And  long,  and  light,  thy  slumbers  last, 
In  happy  dreams  forget  the  past. 

Sleep,  mother,  sleep  !  thy  slumber's  blest, 

It  joys  my  heart  to  see  thee  rest. 

Many's  the  night  she  wak'd  for  me, 
To  nurse  my  helpless  infancy  : 
While  cradled  on  her  patient  arm, 
She  hush'd  me  with  a  mother's  charm. 

Sleep,  mother,  sleep  '.  thy  slumber's  bleat, 

It  joys  my  heart  to  see  thee  rest. 

And  be  it  mine  to  sooth  thy  age, 
With  tender  care  thy  grief  assuage. 
This  hope  is  left  to  poorest  poor, 
And  richest  child  can  do  no  more. 

Sleep,  mother,  sleep  !  thy  slumber's  blest, 

II  joys  my  heart  to  see  thee  rest. 

[While  MABEL  is  singing  the  second  stanza,  OWEN  and 
ANDREW  HOPE  enter.  Mr.  HOPE  stops  short,  and  lis- 
tens :  he  makes  a  sign  to  OWEN  to  stand  still,  and  not 
to  interrupt  MABEL — while  OWEN  approaches  her  on 
tiptoe. 

Mr.  H.  (aside)  She  taks  my  fancy  back  to  dear  Scot- 
land, to  my  ain  hame,  and  my  ain  mither,  and  my  ain 
Kate. 

Owen.  So,  Mabel !  I  thought  you  never  sung  for 
strangers ! 

[MABEL  turns  and  sees  Mr.  HOPE — She  rises  and 

courtesies. 
Mr.  H.  (advancing  softly)  I  fear  to  disturb  the  mother 

*  This  song  is  set  to  music  by  Mr.  Webbe. 


A    DRAMA.  221 

whose  slumbers  are  so  blest,  and  I'd  fain  hear  that  lul- 
laby again.  If  the  voice  stop,  the  mother  may  miss  it, 
and  wake. 

Mabel,  (looking  into  the  room  in  which  her  mother 
sleeps,  then  closing  the  door  gently)  No,  sir,  she'll  not 
miss  my  voice  now,  I  thank  you, — she  is  quite  sound 
asleep. 

Owen.  This  is  Mr.  Andrew  Hope,  Mabel — you  might 
remember  one  of  his  name,  a  Sergeant  Hope. 

Mabel.  Ah !  I  mind — he  that  was  sick  with  us  some 
time  back. 

Mr.  H.  Ay,  my  brother  that's  dead,  and  that  your  gude 
mither  was  so  tender  of  when  sick,  charged  me  to  thank 
you  all,  and  so  from  my  soul  I  do. 

Mabel.  Twas  little  my  poor  mother  could  do,  nor  any 
of  us  for  him  even  then,  though  we  could  do  more  then 
than  we  could  now,  and  I'm  glad  he  chanced  to  be  with 
us  in  our  better  days. 

Mr.  H.  And  I'm  sorry  you  ever  fell  upon  worse  days, 
for  you  deserve  the  best,  and  will  have  such  again  I 
trust.  All  I  can  say  is  this — that  gif  your  brother  here 
gangs  with  me,  he  shall  find  a  brother's  care  through  hfe 
fra'  me. 

Owen.  I  wouldn't  doubt  you ;  and  that  you  know, 
Mabel,  would  be  a  great  point  to  have  a  friend  secure  in 
the  regiment,  if  I  thought  of  going. 

Mabel.  If! — Oh  !  what  are  you  thinking  of,  Owen  ? 
What  is  it  you're  talking  of  going  1  (Turning  towards  the 
door  of  her  mother's  room  suddenly.)  Take  care,  but 
she'd  wake  and  hear  you,  and  she'd  never  sleep  easy 
again. 

Owen.  And  do  you  think  so  * 

Mabel.  Do  I  think  so  !  Am  not  I  sure  of  it  ?  and  yon 
too,  Owen,  if  you'd  take  time  to  think  and  feel. 

Owen.  "Why,  there's  no  doubt  but  it's  hard,  when  the 
mother  has  reared  the  son,  for  him  to  quit  her  as  soon  as 
he  can  go  alone ;  but  it  is  what  I  was  thinking :  it  is 
only  the  militia,  you  know,  and  I'd  not  be  going  out 
of  the  three  kingdoms  ever  at  all ;  and  I  could  be  send- 
ing money  home  to  my  mother,  like  Johnny  Reel  did 
to  his. 

Mabel.  Money  is  it?  Then  there's  no  money  you 
could  send  her — not  the  full  of  Lough  Erne  itself,  in 
golden  guineas,  could  make  her  amends  for  the  loss  of 
yourself,  Owen ;  and  you  know  that. 


222  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 

Mr.  H.  And  I  am  not  the  man  that  would  entice  yos 
to  list,  or  gang  with  me,  in  contradiction  to  your  duty  at 
home,  or  your  interest  abroad :  so  (turning  to  MABEL)  do 
not  look  on  me  as  the  tempter  to  evil,  nor  with  distrust, 
as  you  do,  kind  sister  as  you  are,  and  like  my  own  Kate  ; 
but  hear  me  coolly,  and  without  prejudice,  for  it  is  his 
gude  I  wish. 

Mabel.  I  am  listening  then,  and  I  ask  your  pardon  if 
I  looked  a  doubt. 

Mr.  H.  The  gude  mother  must  wish  above  all  things 
here  below  the  weal,  and  advancement,  and  the  honour 
of  her  bairns  ;  and  she  would  not  let  the  son  be  tied  to 
her  apron-strings  for  any  use  or  profit  to  herself,  but 
ever  wish  him  to  do  the  best  in  life  for  his  seF.  Is  not 
this  truth,  gude  friends — plain  truth  ! 

Mabel.  It  is  then — I  own  that :  truth  and  sense  too. 

Owen.  Now,  see  there,  Mabel. 

Mr.  H.  And  better  for  him  to  do  something  abroad  than 
digging  at  home  ;  and  in  the  army  he  might  get  on, — 
and  here's  the  bugle-boy's  pay. 

Mabel.  Is  it  a  bugle-boy  you  are  thinking  of  making 
him? 

Mr.  H.  That's  the  only  thing  I  could  make  him.  I 
wish  I  could  offer  better. 

Mabel.  Then  I  thank  you,  sir,  and  I  wouldn't  doubt 
ye — and  it  would  be  very  well  for  a  common  boy  that 
could  only  dig :  but  my  brother's  no  common  boy,  sir. 

Owen.  Oh,  Mabel ! 

Mabel.  Hush,  Owen  !  for  it's  the  truth  I'm  telling,  and 
if  to  your  face  I  can't  help  it.  You  may  hide  the  face, 
but  I  won'  hide  the  truth. 

Mr.  H.  Then  speak  on,  my  warm-hearted  lassy — 
speak  on. 

Mabel.  Then,  sir,  he  got  an  edication  while  ever  my 
poor  father  lived,  and  no  better  scholar,  they  said,  for 
the  teaching  he  got :  but  all  was  given  over  when  the 
father  died,  and  the  troubles  came ;  and  Owen,  as  he 
ought,  give  himself  up  intirely  for  my  mother,  to  help 
her,  a  widow.  But  it's  not  digging  and  slaving  he  is  to 
be  always  :  it's  with  the  head,  as  my  father  used  to  say, 
he'll  make  more  than  the  hands ;  and  we  hope  to  get  a 
clerk's  place  for  him  some  time,  or  there  will  be  a  school- 
master wanting  in  this  town,  and  that  will  be  what  he 
would  be  fit  for ;  and  not — but  it's  not  civil,  before  you, 
a  soldier,  sir,  to  say  the  rest 


A   DRAMA.  223 

Mr.  H.  Fear  not ;  you  will  not  give  offence. 

Mabel.  And  not  to  be  spending  his  breath  blowing 
through  a  horn  all  his  days,  for  the  sake  of  wearing  a 
fine  red  coat.  I  beg  your  pardon  again,  sir,  if  I  say  too 
much — but  it's  to  save  my  brother  and  my  mother. 

Mr.  H.  I  like  you  the  better  for  all  you've  said  for 
both. 

Owen.  And  I'm  off  entirely:  111  not  list,  I  thank  you, 
sir.  [MABEL  clasps  her  hands  joyfully,  then  embraces 

her  brother. 

Mr.  H.  And  I'll  not  ask  you  to  list — and  I  would  not 
have  asked  it  at  all,  but  that  a  friend  of  yours  told  me  it 
would  be  the  greatest  service  I  could  do  you,  and  that 
it  was  the  thing  of  all  others  you  wished. 

Owen.  That  friend  was  Christy  Gallagher :  but  he  was 
mistaken — that's  all. 

Mabel.  I  hope  that's  all.  But  I've  no  dependence  on 
him  for  a  friend,  nor  has  my  mother. 

Owen.  Why,  he  was  saying  to  me,  and  I  could  not  say 
against  it,  that  he  had  a  right  to  propose  for  the  inn,  if 
he  could,  though  Gilbert  and  we  wanted  to  get  it. 

Mabel.  Then  I  wonder  why  Christy  should  be  pre- 
ferred rather  than  my  mother. 

Owen.  Then  that's  a  wonder — and  I  can't  understand 
how  that  was. 

Mr.  H.  I  have  one  more  thing  to  say,  or  to  do,  which 
I  should  like  better,  if  you'll  give  me  leave.  If  there's 
a  difficulty  aboot  the  rent  of  this  new  inn  that  you  are 
talking  of,  I  have  a  little  spare  money,  and  you're  wel- 
come to  it :  I  consider  it  as  a  debt  of  my  brother's  which 
I  am  bound  to  pay.  So,  no  obligation  in  life — tell  me 
how  much  will  do.  [Takes  out  his  purse. 

Owen  and  Mabel.  You  are  very  kind — you  are  very 
good. 

Mr.  H.  No,  I  am  not — I  am  only  just.  Say  only  how 
much  will  do. 

Owen.  Alas !  money  won't  do  now,  sir.  It's  all  settled, 
and  Christy  says  he  has  a  promise  of  it  in  writing  from 
the  lady. 

Mr.  H.  Maybe  this  Christy  might  sell  his  interest,  and 
we  will  see — I  will  not  say  till  I  find  I  can  do.  Fare 
ye  weel  till  we  meet,  as  I  hope  we  shall  at  the  dance 
that's  to  be  at  the  castle.  The  band  is  to  be  there,  and 
I  with  them,  and  I  shall  hope  for  this  lassy's  hand  in  the 
dance. 


724  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

Mabel,  (aside)  And  Gilbert  that  never  asked  me  f — 
(Aloud)  I  thank  you  kindly,  sir,  I  sha'n't  go  to  the  dance 
at-all-at-all  I  believe — my  mother  had  better  take  her 
rest,  and  I  must  stay  with  her — A  good  night  to  you 
kindly.  [Exit  MABEL  into  her  mother' 's  room. 

Mr.  H.  This  sister  of  yours  would  leave  me  no  heart 
to  carry  back  to  Scotland  I  fear,  but  that  I'm  a  married 
man  already,  and  have  my  own  luve — a  Kate  of  my  own 
that's  as  fair  as  she,  and  as  gude, — and  that's  saying 
much. 

Owen,  (aside)  Much  more  than  Florinda  Gallagher 
will  like  to  hear. 

Mr.  H.  I  shall  thank  you  if  you  will  teach  me,  for  my 
Kate,  the  words  of  that  song  your  sister  was  singing 
when  we  came  in. 

Owen.  I  believe  it's  to  flatter  me  you  say  this,  for  that 
song  is  my  writing. 

Mr.H.  Yours? 

Owen.  Mine,  such  as  it  is. 

Mr.  H.  Sic  a  ane  as  you  are,  then,  I'm  glad  you  are 
not  to  be  a  bugle-boy  :  your  sister  is  right. 

Owen.  I'll  teach  you  the  words  as  we  go  along. 

Mr.  H.  Dp  so  ;  but  mind  now  this  song-writing  do  not 
lead  you  to  idleness.  We  must  see  to  turn  your  edica- 
tion  to  good  account.  (Aside)  Oh,  I  will  never  rest  till 
I  pay  my  brother's  debt,  some  way  or  other,  to  this  gude 
family.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 
SCENE  I. 

CHRISTY  alone. 

So  this  Scotchman  could  not  list  Owen.  Couldrft  nor 
wouldn't,  that's  what  he  says ;  and  the  Scotchman  looked 
very  hard  at  me  as  he  spoke  :  moreover,  I  seen  Mr.  Gil- 
bert and  him  with  their  two  heads  close  together ;  and 
that's  a  wonder,  for  I  know  Gilbert's  not  nat'rally 
fond  of  any  sort  of  Scotchman.  There's  something 
brewing :  1  must  have  my  wits  about  me,  and  see  and 
keep  sober  this  night,  if  I  can,  any  way.  From  the  first 


A    DRAMA.  225 

I  suspicted  Mr.  Gilbert  had  his  heart  on  Mabel.  (BIDDY 
DOYLE  puts  her  head  in.)  Biddy  Doyle  !  what  the  mis- 
chief does  that  head  of  yours  do  there  ? 

Biddy.-  Nothing  in  life,  sir:  only  just  to  see  who  was 
in  it  along  with  yourself,  because  I  thought  I  hard  talk- 
ing enough  for  two. 

Christy.  You,  girl,  have  curiosity  enough  for  two,  and 
two  dozen,  and  too  much !  So  plase  take  your  head  and 
yourself  out  of  that,  and  don't  be  overharing  my  private 
thoughts ;  for  that  was  all  the  talking  ye  hard,  and  my 
thoughts  can't  abide  listeners. 

Biddy.  I'm  no  listener — 1  ax  your  pardon,  sir:  I 
scorn  to  listen  to  your  thoughts,  or  your  words  even. 

[Exit  BIDDY. 

Christy.  That  girl  has  set  me  topsy-turvy.  Where 
was  I  ? — Oh !  this  was  it.  Suppose  even,  I  say,  suppose 
this  Gilbert's  fancy  should  stick  to  Mabel,  I  might  man- 
age him  nevertheless.  I've  a  great  advantage  and  pre- 
rogative over  this  Englishman,  in  his  having  never  been 
dipped  in  the  Shannon.  He  is  so  tinder  cow  with  bash- 
fulness  now,  that  I  don't  doubt  but  what,  in  one  of  his 
confusions,  I  could  asy  bring  him  to  say  yes  in  the  wrong 
place  ;  and  sooner  than  come  to  a  perplexing  refusal  of 
a  young  lady,  he  might,  I'll  engage,  be  brought  about  to 
marry  the  girl  he  didn't  like,  in  lieu  of  the  girl  he  did. 
We  shall  see — but,  hark !  I  hear  Ferrinafad's  voice,  sing- 
ing, and  I  must  join,  and  see  how  the  thing's  going  on, 
or  going  off  [Exit.. 


SCENE  II. 

Miss  GALLAGHER  and  GILBERT  at  a  Tea-table. 

Gilb.  (aside)  Now  would  I  give  five  golden  guineas 
this  minute  that  her  father,  or  any  mortal  man,  woman, 
or  child  in  the  varsal  world,  would  come  in  and  say 
something ;  for  'tis  so  awk'ard  for  I  to  be  sitting  here, 
and  I  nothing  to  say  to  she. 

Mm  G.  (aside)  When  will  the  man  pay  me  the  com- 
pliment to  speak,  I  wonder  1  Wouldn't  anybody  think 
he'd  no  tongue  in  that  mouth  of  his,  screwed  up,  and. 
blushing  from  ear  to  ear  T 

K3 


226  THE    ROSE,   ETC.  ; 

Enter  CHRISTY. 

Cnnsty.  Hoo!  hoo  !  hoo!— How's  this  1— both  of 
yees  mute  as  fishes  the  moment  I  come  in.  Why,  I 
hard  you  just  now,  when  my  back  was  turned,  singing 
like  turtle-doves — didn't  I,  Florry  ? 

Miss  G.  Indeed,  sir,  as  to  turtle-doves,  I'm  not  sinsi- 
ble ;  but  Mr.  Gilbert  requisted  of  me  to  be  favouring 
him  with  a  song,  which  I  was  complying  with,  though 
I'm  not  used  to  be  singing  without  my  piano. 

Christy,  (aside)  Sorrow  take  your  piano  I  you're  not 
come  there  yet. 

Miss  G.  I  wonder  the  drum-major  isn't  come  yet. 
Does  he  expect  tea  can  be  keeping  hot  for  him  to  the 
end  of  time  T  He'll  have  nothing  but  slop-dash,  though 
he's  a  very  genteel  man.  I'm  partial  to  the  military 
school,  I  own,  and  a  Highlander  too  is  always  my  white- 
headed  boy. 

Gilb.  (astonished)  Her  white-headed  boy  !— Now,  if  I 
was  to  be  hanged  for  it,  I  don't  know  what  that  means. 

Miss  G.  Now  where  can  you  have  lived,  Mr.  Gilbert, 
not  to  know  that  ? 

Christy,  (aside)  By  the  mass,  he's  such  a  matter-o'- 
fact  man  I  can't  get  round  him  with  all  my  wit. 

Miss  G.  Here's  the  drum-major !  Scarlet's  asy  seen 
at  a  distance,  that's  one  comfort 

Enter  Mr.  HOPE. 

Mr.  H.  I'm  late,  Miss  Florinda,  I  fear,  for  the  tea- 
table  ;  but  I  had  a  wee- wee  bit  of  business  to  do  for  a 
young  friend  that  kept  me. 

Miss  G.  No  matter,  major ;  my  ta-pot  defies  you. 
Take  a  cup  of  tea.  Are  you  fond  of  music,  major  ? 

Mr.  H.  Very  fond  of  music,  ma'am — do  you  sing  or 
play? 

Miss  G.  I  do  play — I  plead  guilty  to  that,  I  own.  But 
in  this  hole  that  we  are  in  there's  no  room  fitting  for  my 
piano.  However,  in  the  new  inn  which  we  have  got 
now  I'll  fix  my  piano  elegant  in  the  back-parlour. 

Mr.  H.  In  the  mean  time,  Miss  Florinda,  will  you  fa- 
vour us  with  a  song  t 

Christy.  And  I'll  be  making  the  punch,  for  I'm  no  song- 
stress. Biddy !  Biddy  Doyle !  hot  water  in  a  jerry. 


A.    DRAMA.  227 

Miss  G.  Indeed  I'm  not  used  to  sing  without  my  piano ; 
but,  to  oblige  the  major,  I'll  sing  by  note. 

Miss  GALLAGHER  sings. 

Softly  breathing  through  the  heart, 
When  lovers  meet  no  more  to  part ; 
That  purity  or  soul  be  mine 
Which  speaks  in  music's  sound  divine. 

'Mid  trees  and  streams  of  constant  love 
That's  whispered  by  the  turtle-dove ; 
Sweet  cooing  cushat,  all  my  prayer 
Is  love  in  elegance  to  share. 

Mr.  H.  That's  what  I  call  fine,  now  !  Very  fine  that. 

[GILBERT  nods. 

Miss  G.  (aside)  Look  at  that  Englishman,  now,  that 
hasn't  a  word  of  compliment  to  throw  to  a  dog,  but  only 
a  nod. — (Aloud)  "Pis  the  military  that  has  always  the 
souls  for  music,  and  for  the  ladies — and  I  think,  gentle- 
men, I  may  step  for'ard  and  say  I'm  entitled  to  call  upon 
you  now: — Mr.  Gilbert,  if  you've  ever  a  love-song  in 
your  composition. 

Gilb.  Love-song  I  can't  say,  ma'am ;  but  such  as  I 
have — I'm  no  great  hand  at  composition — but  I  have  one 
song — they  call  it  My  choice  of  a  wife. 

Miss  G.  Pray  let's  have  it,  sir. 

Christy.  Now  for  it,  by  Jabus. 

Mr.  H.  Give  it  us,  Mr.  Gilbert. 

Enter  BIDDY  with  hot  water,  and  exit. 
GILBERT  sings. 

There's  none  but  a  fool  will  wed  on  a  sudden, 
Or  take  a  fine  miss  that  can't  make  a  pudding ; 
If  he  get  such  a  wife  what  would  a  man  gain,  O '. 
But  a  few  ballad  tunes  on  a  wretched  piano  ? 

Some  ladies  than  peacocks  are  twenty  times  prouder, 
Some  ladies  than  thunder  are  twenty  times  louder; 
But  I'll  have  a  wife  that's  obliging  and  civil — 
For  me,  your  fine  ladies  may  go  to  the  devil. 

Miss  G.  (rising)  Sir,  I  comprehend  your  song,  coarse 
as  it  is,  and  its  moral  to  boot,  and  I  humbly  thank  ye, 
sir. — (She  courtesies  low.) — And  if  I  live  a  hundred 
year,  and  ninety-nine  to  the  back  of  that,  sir,  I  will 
remember  it  to  you,  sir. 

Christy,  (leaving  the  punch  which  he  had  been  making, 


228  THE    ROSE,    ETC., 

comes  forward  with  a  lemon  in  his  hand)  Wheugh !  wheugh  f 
wheugh !  Ferrinafad ! 

Gilb.  (aside)  Ferrinafad ! — the  man's  mad. 

Miss  G.  Father,  go  your  ways  back  to  your  punch. 
Here  stands  the  only  raal  gentleman  in  company  (point- 
ing to  the  drum-major),  if  I'm  to  make  the  election. 

Christy.  Major,  you  can't  but  drink  her  health  for  that 
compliment. 

[He  presents  a  glass  of  punch  to  Mr.  HOPE. 

Mr.  H.  Miss  Gallagher's  health,  and  a  gude  husband 
to  her,  and  soon. 

Miss  G.  And  soon ! — No  hurry  for  them  that  has 
choice. 

Christy.  That  has  money,  you  mane,  jewel.  Mr.  Gil- 
bert, you  did  not  give  us  your  toast. 

Gilb.  Your  good  health,  ma'am — your  good  health,  sir 
— Mr.  Hope,  your  good  health,  and  your  fireside  in  Scot- 
land, and  in  pa'tic'lar  your  good  wife. 

Miss  G.  (starting)  Your  wife,  sir !  Why,  sir,  is't  pos- 
sible you're  a  married  man  after  all  ? 

Mr.  H.  Very  possible,  ma'am — thank  Heaven  and  my 
gude  Kate. 

Miss  G.  His  gude  Kate  /—Well,  I  hate  the  Scotch 
accent  of  all  languages  under  the  sun. 

Christy.  In  a  married  man,  I  suppose  you  mane, 
FlorryT 

Miss  G.  This  is  the  way  with  officers  continually — 
passing  themselves  for  bachelors. 

Christy.  Then,  Florry,  we'd  best  recommend  It  to  the 
drum-major,  the  next  town  he'd  go  into,  to  put  up  an 
advertisement  in  capitals  on  his  cap,  warning  all  women 
•whom  it  may  consarn  that  he  is  a  married  man. 

Miss  G.  'Tis  no  consarn  of  mine,  I'll  assure  you,  sir, 
at  any  rate  ;  for  I  should  scorn  to  think  of  a  Scotchman 
any  way.  And  what's  a  drum-major,  after  all  1 

[Exit  in  a  passion. 

Christy.  Bo-boo !  bo-boo !  bo-boo  !  there's  a  tantarara 
now ;  but  never  mind  her,  she  takes  them  tantarums  by 
turns.  Now  depend  upon  it,  Mr.  Gilbert,  it's  love  that's 
at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  clane  and  clear. 

Gilb.  It's  very  like,  sir, — I  can't  say. 

Christy.  Oh,  but  I  can  say — I  know  her,  egg  and  bird. 

The  thing  is,  she's  mad  with  you,  and  that  has  set  her 

all  through  other.    But  we'll  finish  our  tumbler  of  punch. 

[Draws  forward  the  table,  and  sets  chairs. 


A    DRAMA.  229 

Gilb.  (aside)  Egg  and  bird ! — mad  !  All  through  other ! 
— Confound  me  if  I  understand  one  word  the  man  is  say- 
ing ;  but  I  will  make  him  understand  me,  if  he  can  under- 
stand plain  English. 

Mr.  H.  (aside)  I'll  stand  by  and  see  fair  play.  I  have 
my  own  thought. 

Gilb.  Now,  Mr. ,  to  be  plain  with  you  at  once,— 

here's  fifty  guineas  in  gold ;  and  if  you  will  take  them, 
and  give  me  up  the  promise  you  have  got  of  the  new 
inn,  you  shall  be  welcome.  That's  all  I  have  to  say,  if 
I  was  to  talk  till  Christmas — and  fewest  words  is  best 
in  matters  of  business. 

Christy.  Fifty  guineas  in  gold! — Don't  part  with  a 
guinea  of  them,  man ;  put  'em  up  again.  You  shall  have 
the  new  inn  without  a  word  more,  and  into  the  bargain 
my  good-will  and  my  daughter — and  you're  a  jantleman, 
and  can't  say  no  to  that  any  way. 

GUI.  Yes,  but  I  can  though :  since  you  drive  me  to 
the  wall  I  must  say  no,  and  I  do  say  no.  And,  dang  it, 
I  would  have  been  hanged  almost  as  soon  as  say  so 
much  to  a  father.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  my  heart 
is  given  to  another.  Good  evening  to  you. 

Christy,  (holding  him  as  he  attempts  to  go)  Take  it  coolly, 
and  listen  to  me,  and  tell  me, — was  you  ever  married 
before,  Mr.  Gilbert  ? 

Gilb.  Never. 

Christy.  Then  I  was — and  I  can  tell  you  that  I  found,  to 
my  cost,  love  was  all  in  all  with  me  before  I  was  mar- 
ried, and  after  I  had  been  married  a  twel'month  money 
was  all  in  all  with  me  ;  for  I  had  the  wife,  and  I  had  not 
the  money,  and  without  the  money  the  wife  must  have 
starved. 

Gilb.  But  I  can  work,  sir,  and  will,  head,  hands,  and 
heart,  for  the  woman  I  love. 

Chnsty.  Asy  said — hard  done.  Mabel  Larkin  is  a  very 
pretty  girl.  But  wait  till  I  tell  you  what  Kit  Monaghan 
aaid  to  me  yesterday.  I'm  going  to  be  married,  sir, 
says  he  to  me.  Ay,  so  you  mintioned  to  me  a  fort- 
night ago,  Kit,  says  I — to  Rose  Dermod,  isn't  it  1  says  I. 
Not  at  all,  sir,  says  he — it  is  to  Peggy  M'Grath  this 
time.  And  what  quarrel  had  you  to  Rose  Dermod? 
says  I.  None  in  life,  sir,  says  he;  but  Peggy  M'Grath 
had  two  cows,  and  Rose  Dermod  had  but  the  one,  and 
in  my  mind  there  is  not  the  differ  of  a  cow  betwix* 


230  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

one  woman  and  another.    Do  you  understand  me  now, 
Mr.  Gilbert  ? 

Gilb.  Sir,  we  shall  never  understand  one  another — 
pray  let  me  go  before  I  get  into  a  passion. 

[Breaks  from  CHRISTY,  and  exit. 

Christy.  Hollo !  hollo  !  Mr.  Gilbert ! — (GILBERT  re- 
turns.) One  word  more  about  the  new  inn.  I've  done 
about  Florry ;  and,  upon  my  conscience,  I  believe  you're 
right  enough— only  that  I'm  her  father,  and  in  duty 
bound  to  push  her  as  well  as  I  can. 

Gilb.  Well,  sir,  about  the  inn:  be  at  a  word  with 
me  ;  for  I'm  not  in  a  humour  to  be  trifled  with. 

Mr.  H.  (aside)  Fire  beneath  snow  !  who'd  ha'  thought 
it? 

Christy.  Then,  if  it  was  sixty  guineas  instead  of 
fifty,  I'd  take  it,  and  you  should  have  my  bargain  of  the 
inn. 

Mr.  H.  (aside)  I'll  not  say  my  word  until  I  see  what 
the  botjom  of  the  men  are. 

Gilb.  (aside)  Why,  to  make  up  sixty,  I  must  sell  my 
watch  even  ;  but  I'll  do  it — any  thing  to  please  Mabel. 
— (Aloud)  Well,  sixty  guineas,  if  you  won't  give  it  for 
less. 

Christy.  Done  ! — (Eagerly.) 

Mr.  H.  Stay,  stay,  Mr.  Gilbert !  Have  a  care,  Mr. 
Gallagher ! — the  lady  might  not  be  well  pleased  at  your 
handing  over  her  written  promise,  Mr.  Gallagher — wait  a 
wee  bit.  Don't  conclude  this  bargain  till  you  are  before 
the  lady  at  the  castle. 

Gilb.  So  best — no  doubt. 

Christy.  All  one  to  me — so  I  pocket  the  sixty. 

Mr.  H.  (aside  to  GILBERT)  Come  off. 

Gilb.  We  shall  meet  then  at  the  castle  to-night :  till 
then  a  good  day  to  you,  Mr.  Gallagher. 

[Exeunt  GILBERT  and  Mr.  HOPE. 

Christy.  Good  night  to  ye  kindly,  gentlemen.  There's 
a  fool  to  love  for  you,  now !  If  I'd  ax'd  a  hundred,  I'd  ha' 
got  it.  But  still  there's  only  one  thing.  Ferrinafad  will 
go  mad  when  she  learns  I've  sold  the  new  inn,  and  she 
to  live  on  in  this  hole,  and  no  place  for  the  piano.  I 
hope  Biddy  did  not  hear  a  sentence  of  it. — (Calls)  Biddy ! 
Biddy  Doyle !  Biddy,  can't  ye  { 


A    DRAMA.  231 


Enter  BIDDY. 

Biddy.  What  is  it  ? 

Christy.  Did  you  hear  any  thing  ?  Oh,  I  see  ye  did 
by  your  eyes.  Now,  hark'ee,  my  good  girl :  don't  men- 
tion a  sentence  to  Ferrinafad  of  my  settling  the  new  inn 
till  the  bargain's  complate,  and  money  in  both  pockets 
— you  hear  ? 

Biddy.  I  do,  sir.     But  I  did  not  hear  afore. 

Christy.  Becaase  she,  though  she's  my  daughter,  she's 
crass — I'll  empty  my  mind  to  you,  Biddy. 

Biddy,  (aside)  He  has  taken  enough  to  like  to  be  talk- 
ing to  poor  Biddy. 

Christy.  Afore  Florry  was  set  up  on  her  high  horse 
by  that  little  independency  her  doting  grandmother  left 
her,  and  until  she  got  her  head  turned  with  that  Ferrin- 
afad edication,  this  Florry  was  a  good  girl  enough.  But 
now  what  is  she  1 — Given  over  to  vanities  of  all  sorts, 
and  no  comfort  in  life  to  me,  or  use  at  all — not  like  a 
daughter  at  all,  nor  mistress  of  the  house  neither,  nor 
likely  to  be  well  married  neither,  or  a  credit  to  me  that 
way  !  And  saucy  to  me  on  account  of  that  money  of 
hers  I  liquidated  unknown's!. 

Biddy.  True  for  ye,  sir. 

Christy.  Then  it  all  comes  from  the  little  finger  get- 
ting to  be  the  master  of  me  ;  for  I'm  confident  that  when 
sober  I  was  not  born  to  be  a  rogue  nat'rally.  Was  not 
I  honest  Christy  once "! — (ready  to  cry.)  Oh,  I'm  a  great 
penitent !  But  there's  no  help  for  it  now. 

Biddy.  True  for  you,  sir. 

Christy.  I'm  an  unfortunate  cratur,  and  all  the  neigh- 
bours know  it.  So,  Biddy  dear,  I've  nothing  for  it  but 
to  take  another  glass. 

Biddy.  Oh !  no,  sir,  not  when  you'll  be  going  up  to  the 
castle  to  the  lady — you'll  be  in  no  condition. 

Christy.  Tut,  girl — 'twill  give  me  heart.  Let's  be 
merry  any  way.  [Exit,  singing. 

"  They  say  it  was  care  killed  the  cat, 

That  starv'd  her  and  caus'd  tier  to  die; 
But  I'll  be  much  wiser  than  that, 
For  the  deril  a  care  will  care  I." 


232  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 


SCENE  III. 

Widow  LARKEN'S  Cottage. 
Widow  LARKEN,  MABEL,  and  GILBERT. 

Gilb.  And  could  you  doubt  me,  Mabel,  after  I  told  you 
I  loved  you  ? 

Mabel.  Never  could  nor  would  have  doubted,  had  you 
once  told  me  as  much,  Mr.  Gilbert. 

Widow.  There  was  the  thing,  Mr.  Gilbert — you  know 
it  was  you  that  was  to  speak,  if  you  thought  of  her. 

Gilb.  Do  not  you  remember  the  rose  and  the  sham- 
rock? 

Widow.  Oh !  she  does  well  enough ;  and  that's  what 
her  heart  was  living  upon,  till  I  killed  the  hope. 

Gilb.  You!— killed  the  hope! — I  thought  you  were 
my  friend. 

Widow.  And  so  I  am,  and  was — but  when  you  did 
not  speak. 

Gilb.  If  I  had  not  loved  her  so  well,  I  might  have 
been  able,  perhaps,  to  have  said  more. 

Widow.  Then  that's  enough.  Mabel  mavourneen, 
wear  the  rose  he  give  you  now — I'll  let  you — and  see 
it's  fresh  enough.  She  put  it  in  water — oh !  she  had 
hope  still ! 

Mabel.  And  was  not  I  right  to  trust  him,  mother  ? 

Gilb.  Mabel,  if  I  don't  do  my  best  to  make  you  happy 
all  my  days,  I  deserve  to  be — that's  all !  But  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  about  the  new  inn  :  that's  what  I  have  been 
about  ever  since,  and  I'm  to  have  it  for  sixty  guineas. 

Enter  OWEN,  rubbing  his  hands. 

Owen.  You  see,  mother,  I  was  right  about  Gilbert  and 
Mabel.  But  Mr.  Hope  and  the  band  has  gone  up  to  the 
castle.  Come,  come! — time  to  be  off! — no  delay! — 
Gilbert !  Mabel,  off  with  you !  (He  pushes  them  off.) 
And  glad  enough  ye  are  to  go  together.  Mother  dear, 
here's  your  bonnet  and  the  cloak, — here,  round  ye 
throw — that's  it — take  my  arm.  (Widow  stumbles  as  he 


A   DRAMA. 


pulls  her  on.)    Oh,  I'm  putting  you  past  your  speed, 
mother. 

Widow.  No,  no. — No  fear  in  life  for  the  mother  that 
has  the  support  of  such  a  son. 


SCENE  IV. 

A  large  Apartment  in  Bannow  Castle,  ornamented  with  the 
Rose,  Thistle,  and  Shamrock. — The  hall  opens  into  a 
lawn,  where  the  country-people  are  seen  dancing. 

Enter  CLARA,  Sir  WILLIAM  HAMDEN,  and  a  train  of 
dancers. 

Clara.  Now,  sir,  as  we  have  here  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish  dancers,  we  can  have  the  English  country- 
dance,  the  Scotch  reel,  and  the  Irish  jig. 

Sir  W.  Then  to  begin  with  the  Irish  jigr  which  I 
have  never  seen. 

Clara.  You  shall  see  it  in  perfection. 

[An  Irish  jig  is  danced,  a  Scotch  reel  follows,  and  an 
English  country-dance.  When  CLARA  has  danced 
down  the  country-dance,  she  goes  with  her  partner  to 
Sir  WILLIAM  HAMDEN. 

Clara.  We  are  going  out  to  look  at  the  dancers  on 
the  lawn. 

Sir  W.  Take  me  with  you,  for  I  wish  to  see  those 
merry  dancers — I  hear  them  laughing.  I  love  to  hear 
the  country-people  laugh :  theirs  is  always  the  heart's 
laugh. 

[Exeunt  Sir  WILLIAM  and  CLARA. 

[The  dancers  recommence,  and  after  dancing  for  a  few 
minutes,  they  go  off  just  as  Sir  WILLIAM  and  CLARA 
return,  entering  from  the  hall-door. 

Clara.  My  dear  uncle,  thank  you  for  going  out  among 
these  poor  people,  and  for  speaking  so  kindly  to  them. 
One  would  think  that  you  had  lived  in  Ireland  all  your 
life,  you  know  so  well  how  to  go  straight  to  Irish  heads 
and  Irish  hearts  by  kindness,  and  by  what  they  love 
almost  as  well,  humour,  and  good-humour.  Thank  you 
again  and  again. 

Sir  W.  My  dear  niece,  you  need  not  thank  me ;  for 
if  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  these  people — if  you  had 
never  been  born — I  should  have  loved  the  Irish  for  their 
own  sakes.  How  easy  it  is  to  please  them !  How  easy 


234  THE    ROSE,    ETC.; 

to  make  them  happy ;  and  how  grateful  they  are,  even 
for  a  few  words  of  kindness. 

Clara.  Yes.  This  I  may  say  without  partiality— what- 
ever other  faults  my  countrymen  have,  they  certainly 
are  a  grateful  people.  My  father,  who  knew  them  well, 
taught  me,  from  my  childhood,  to  trust  to  Irish  gratitude. 

Sir  W.  (changing  his  tone)  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
is  my  duty  to  watch  over  your  Irish  generosity,  Clara. 
Have  you  made  any  more  promises,  my  dear,  since 
morning  ? 

Clara.  Oh !  no,  sir ;  and  I  have  heartily  repented  of 
that  which  I  made  this  morning :  for  I  find  that  this 
man  to  whom  I  have  promised  the  new  inn  is  a  sad 
drunken,  good-for-nothing  person ;  and  as  for  his  daugh- 
ter, whom  I  have  never  yet  seen — 

Sir  W.    (looking  towards  the  entrance  from  the  lawn) 

"  But  who  is  this  ">.     What  thing  of  sea  or  land  ? 
Female  of  sex  it  seems — 
That  so  bedeck'd,  ornate  and  gay, 
Comes  this  way  sailing." 

Enter  Miss  GALLAGHER. 

Miss  G.  Sir,  I  beg  pardon.  But  I  was  told  Miss  O'Hara 
would  wish  to  speak  with  Christy  Gallagher,  and  I'm 
his  daughter — he  not  being  very  well  to-night.  He  will 
be  up  with  miss  in  the  morning — but  is  confined  to  his 
bed  with  a  pain  about  his  heart,  he  took,  just  when  I  was 
coming  away. 

[CHRISTY'S  voice  heard,  singing,  to  the  tune  of  "  St.  Pat- 
rick's day  in  the  morning." 

'•  Full  bumpers  of  whiskey 
Will  make  us  all  frisky, 
On  Patrick's  day  in  the  morning." 

Miss  G.  (aside)  Oh  !  King  of  glory,  if  he  is  not  come 
up  after  all ! 

Clara.  "  What  noise  is  that,  unlike  the  former  sound  1" 
Sir  W.  Only  some  man,  singing  in  honour  of  St.  Pat- 
rick, I  suppose. 

Enter  CHRISTY  GALLAGHER,  BIDDY  trying  to  hold  him  back. 

Christy.  Tut !  let  me  in :  I  know  the  lady  is  here,  and 
I  must  thank  her,  as  becoming — 

[CLARA  puts  her  hand  before  her  face,  and  retires  as  he 
advances. 

Miss  G.  Oh !  father,  keep  out — you're  not  in  a  con- 
dition. 


A    DRAMA.  235 

<St>  W.  John !  Thomas !  carry  this  man  off. 

Christy.  Ah,  now,  just  let  me  remark  to  his  honour 
— did  he  ever  hear  this  song  in  England  1  (He  struggles, 
and  sings,  while  they  are  carrying  him  off",) 

"  O'Rourke's  noble  feast  shall  ne'er  be  forgot, 
By  those  who  were  there,  or  by  those  who  were  not." 

But  it  was  not  O'Rourke's  noble  feast  at  all,  it  was 
O'Hara's  noble  feast,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge — I'll 
take  my  affidavit ;  and  am  not  I  here,  on  the  spot,  ready 
and  proud  to  fight  any  one  that  denies  the  contrary? 
Let  me  alone,  Florry,  for  I'm  no  babby  to  be  taken  out 
of  the  room.  Ready  and  proud,  I  say  I  am,  to  fight 
any  tin  men  in  the  county,  or  the  kingdom  itself,  or 
the  three  kingdoms  entirely,  that  would  go  for  to  dare 
for  to  offer  to  articulate  the  contrary.  So  it's  Miss 
O'Hara  for  ever,  huzza !  a !  a !  a !  a  ! 
Sir.  W.  Carry  him  off  this  instant.  Begone ! 

[The  servants  carry  off  CHRISTY  GALLAGHER,  while  he 
sings,  to  the  tune  of  "  One  bottle  more" — 
"Oh,  give  me  but  whiskey,  continled  I'll  sing, 
Hibernia  for  ever,  and  God  save  the  king !" 

[Miss  GALLAGHER  directs  and  expedites  her  father's  retreat. 

Clara.  Shame !  shame !  Is  this  the  tenant  I  have 
chosen  ? 

Miss  G.  Indeed,  and  indeed,  then,  Miss  O'Hara,  I  often 
preach  to  him,  but  there's  no  use  in  life  preaching  to  him 
— as  good  preaching  to  the  winds !  for,  drunk  or  sober, 
he  has  an  answer  ready  at  all  points.  It  is  not  wit  he 
wants,  sir. 

Sir  W.  And  he  is  happy  in  having  a  daughter  who 
knows  how  to  make  the  best  of  his  faults,  I  see.  What 
an  excellent  landlord  he  will  be  for  this  new  inn  ! 

Miss  G.  Oh,  certainly,  sir — only  it's  being  St.  Patrick's 
night,  he  would  be  more  inexcusable  ;  and  as  to  the  new 
inn,  please  heaven !  he  shall  get  no  pace  on  earth  till  he 
takes  an  oath  afore  the  priest  against  spirits,  good  or 
bad,  for  a  twil'month  to  come,  before  ever  I  trust  a  foot 
of  his  in  the  new  inn. 

Clara.  But,  ma'am,  from  your  own  appearance,  I  should 
apprehend  that  you  would  not  be  suited  to  the  business 
yourself.  I  should  suppose  you  would  think  it  beneath 
you  to  keep  an  inn. 

Miss  G.  Why,  ma'am — why,  sir — you  know  when  it 
is  called  an  hotel,  it's  another  thing ;  and  I'm  sure  I've 


236  THE    ROSE,    ETC.  ; 

a  great  regard  for  the  family,  and  there's  nothing  I 
wouldn't  do  to  oblige  Miss  O'Hara. 

Clara.  Miss  Gallagher,  let  me  beg  that  if  you  wish  to 
oblige  me — 

Enter  GILBERT. 

Sir  W.  Well,  Gilbert  ? 

Gilb.  Only,  sir,  if  you  and  Miss  O'Hara  were  at  leisure, 
sir,  one  Mr.  Andrew  Hope,  the  master  of  the  band,  would 
wish  to  be  allowed  to  come  in  to  sing  a  sort  of  a  welcome 
home  they  have  set  to  music,  sir,  for  Miss  O'Hara. 

Clara.  I  do  believe  this  is  the  very  song  which  that 
drunken  man  gave  me  this  morning,  and  for  which  I  gave 
him  the  promise  of  the  inn.  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  hear 
the  song. 

Sir  W.  Let  me  hear  it,  at  all  events.  Desire  Mr.  An 
drew  Hope,  and  his  merry-men-all,  to  walk  in. 

[Exit  GILBERT. 

Enter  Mr.  HOPE  and  Band. — Some  of  the  country-people 
peep  in,  as  if  wishing  to  enter. 

Sir  W.  Come  in,  my  good  friends. 

Enter,  among  others,  the  Widow  LARKEN,  and  MABEL,  and 
OWEN. — BIDDY  follows  timidly. — Miss  GALLAGHER  takes 
a  conspicuous  place. — Sir  WILLIAM  and  CLARA  continue 
speaking. 

Sir  W.  Did  Gilbert  introduce  his  bride-elect  to  you, 
Clara? 

Clara.  Yes,  Mabel  Larken,  that  girl  with  the  sweet 
modest  countenance — and  her  mother,  that  respectable- 
looking  woman  ;  and  her  brother,  I  see,  is  here,  that  boy 
with  the  quick,  intelligent  eyes.  1  know  all  the  family 
— know  them  all  to  be  good ;  and  these  were  the  people 
I  might  have  served !  Oh,  fool !  fool ! 
i  Sir  W.  Well,  well,  well,  'tis  over  now,  my  dear  Clara 
— you  will  be  wiser  another  time.  Come,  Mr.  Hope, 
give  us  a  little  flattery,  to  put  us  in  good-humour  with 
ourselves. 

[The  Band  prelude  ;  but  just  as  they  begin,  Sir  WILLIAM 
sees  CHRISTY,  who  is  coming  in  softly,  holding  back 
the  skirts  of  his  coat. — Sir  WILLIAM  in  a  loud  voice 
exclaims, 


A   DRAMA.  237 

Turn  out  that  man !  How  dare  you  return  to  inter- 
rupt us,  sir !  Turn  out  that  man ! 

Christy,  (falling  on  his  knees)  Oh !  please  your  hon- 
our, I  beg  your  pardon  for  one  minute :  only  just  give 
me  lave  to  insense  your  honour's  honour.  I'm  not  the 
same  man  at  all. 

Sir  W.  Stand  up,  stand  up — an  Englishman  cannot 
bear  to  see  a  man  kneel  to  him.  Stand  up,  pray,  if  you  can. 

Christy.  Then  1  can,  plase  your  honour  (rises),  since  I 
got  a  shock. 

Clara.  What  shock  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Christy.  Oh,  nothing  in  life,  miss,  that  need  consarn 
you — only  a  fall  I  got  from  my  horse,  which  the  child 
they  set  to  lead  me  would  put  me  up  upon,  and  it  come 
down  and  kilt  me  ;  for  it  wasn't  a  proper  horse  for  an 
unfortunate  man  like  me,  that  was  overtaken,  as  I  was 
then  ;  and  it's  well  but  I  got  a  kick  of  the  baast. 

Sir  W.  Do  you  say  you  were  kicked  by  a  horse  ? 

Christy.  Not  at  all,  plase  your  honour — I  say  it  was 
well  but  I  got  a  kick  of  the  baast.  But  it's  all  for  the 
best  now  ;  for  see,  I'm  now  as  sober  as  a  jidge,  and  quite 
as  any  lamb ;  and  if  I'd  get  lave  only  just  to  keep  in  this 
here  corner,  I  would  be  no  let  or  hinderance  to  any. 
Oh !  dear  miss,  spake  for  me  !  I'm  an  ould  man,  miss, 
that  your  father's  honour  was  partial  to  always,  and 
called  me  honest  Christy,  which  I  was  once,  and  till  his 
death  too. 

Sir  W.  What  a  strange  mixture  is  this  man ! 

Clara.  Pray  let  him  stay,  uncle — he's  sober  now. 

Sir  W.  Say  not  one  word  more,  then ;  stand  still  there 
in  your  corner. 

Christy.  And  not  a  word  for  my  life — not  breathe  even 
— to  please  you  !  becaase  I've  a  little  business  to  min- 
tion  to  the  lady.  Sixty  guineas  to  resave  from  Mr.  Gil- 
bert, yonder.  Long  life  to  you,  miss !  But  I'll  say  no 
more  till  this  Scotchman  has  done  with  his  fiddle  and 
his  musics. 

Sir  W.  I  thought,  sir,  you  were  not  to  have  spoken 
another  syllable. 

[CHRISTY  puts  his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  bows  to  Sir  Wn^ 
LIAM  and  to  CLARA. 

Sir  W.  Now,  Mr.  Hope. 

Mr.  HOPE  sings,  and  the  Band  join  in  chorus, 

Though  Bannow's  heiress,  fair  and  young, 
Hears  polish'd  praise  from  ev'ry  tongue;  • 


238  THE    ROSE,   ETC.; 

Yet  good  and  kind,  she'll  not  disdain 
The  tribute  of  the  lowly  swain. 

The  heart's  warm  welcome,  Clara,  meets  thee ; 

Thy  native  land,  dear  lady,  greets  thee. 

That  open  brow,  that  courteous  grace, 
Bespeaks  tbee  of  thy  generous  race ; 
Thy  father's  soul  is  in  thy  smile — 
Thrice  blest  his  name  in  Erin's  isle. 

The  heart's  warm  welcome,  Clara,  meets  thee ; 

Thy  native  land,  dear  lady,  greets  thee. 

The  bright  star  shining  on  the  night, 
Betokening  good,  spreads  quick  delight ; 
But  quicker  far,  more  glad  surprise, 
Wakes  the  kind  radiance  of  her  eyes. 

The  heart's  warm  welcome,  Clara,  meets  thee ; 

Thy  native  land,  dear  lady,  greets  thee.* 

Christy.  Then  I'm  not  ashamed,  any  way,  of  that  song 
of  mine. 

Sir  W.  Of  yours ! — Is  it  possible  that  it  is  yours ! 

Clara.  It  is  indeed.  These  are  the  very  lines  he  gave 
me  this  morning. 

Christy.  And  I  humbly  thank  you,  madam  or  miss,  for 
having  got  them  set  to  the  musics. 

Clara.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  We  must  thank 
Mr.  Hope  for  this  agreeable  surprise. 

Christy.  Why,  then,  I  tank  you,  Mr.  Drum. 

Mr.  H.  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  sir.  I  will  take  none 
from  you. 

Christy.  No — for  I  didn't  remember  giving  you  the 
copy.  I  suppose  Florry  did. 

Miss  G.  Not  I,  sir. 

Christy.  Or  the  schoolmaster's  foul  copy  maybe,  for 
it  was  he  was  putting  the  song  down  for  me  on  paper. 
My  own  handwriting  shaking  so  bad,  I  could  not  make 
a  fair  copy  fit  for  the  lady. 

.  Mr.  H.  Mr.  Gallagher,  don't  plunge  further  in  false- 
hood— you  know  the  truth  is,  that  song's  not  yours. 

Christy.  Why,  then,  by  all — 

Mr.  H.  Stop,  stop,  Mr.  Gallagher — stop,  I  advise  you. 

Christy.  Why,  then,  I  won't  stop  at  any  thing — for  the 
song's  my  own. 

Mr.  H.  In  one  sense  of  the  word,  maybe,  it  may  be 
called  your  own,  sir ;  for  you  bought  it,  I  know. 

Christy.  I  bought  it !  Oh,  who  put  that  in  your  Scotch 
brains  1  Whoever  it  was,  was  a  big  liar. 

Biddy.  No  liar  at  all,  sir — I  ax  your  pardon — 'twas  I. 

*  Set  to  music  by  Mr.  Webbe. 


A    DRAMA.  239 

Christy.  And  you  overheard  my  thoughts,  then,  talk- 
ing to  myself — ye  traitor ! 

Biddy.  No,  sir— again  I  ax  your  pardon;  no  listener 
Biddy  Doyle.  But  I  was  at  the  schoolmaster's,  to  get 
Aim  pen  a  letter  for  me  to  my  poor  father,  and  there  with 
mm  I  heard  how  Christy  bought  the  song,  and  seen  the 
first  copy — and  the  child  of  the  house  told  me  all  about 
it,  and  how  it  was  lift  there  by  Mr.  Owen  Larken. 

Sir  W.  and  Clara,  (joyfully)  Owen  Larken ! — you? 

Christy.  All  lies  !  Asy  talk  ! — asy  talk — asy  to  belie 
a  poor  man. 

Mr.  H.  If  you  tell  the  truth,  you  can  tell  us  the  next 
verse,  for  there's  another  which  we  did  not  yet  sing. 

Christy.  Not  in  my  copy,  which  is  the  original. 

Sir  W.  If  you  have  another  verse,  let  us  hear  it — and 
that  will  decide  the  business. 

Christy.  Oh,  the  devil  another  line,  but  what's  lame, 
I'll  engage,  and  forged,  as  you'll  see. 


Mr.  HOPE 


sings. 


Quick  spring  the  feelings  of  the  heart, 
When  touch'd  by  Clara's  gen'rous  art  ; 
Quick  as  the  grateful  shamrock  springs, 
In  the  good  fairies'  favour'd  rings. 

Clara.  What  does  Christy  say  now  ? 

Christy.  Why,  miss,  I  say  that's  well  said  for  the 
shamrock,  any  way.  And  all  that's  in  it  for  me  is  this — 
the  schoolmaster  was  a  rogue  that  did  not  give  me  that 
verse  in  for  my  money. 

Sir  W.  Then  you  acknowledge  you  bought  it  T 

Christy.  What  harm,  plase  your  honour!  And  would 
not  I  have  a  right  to  buy  what  pleases  me — and  when 
bought  and  ped  for,  isn't  it  mine  in  law  and  right  ?  But 
I  am  mighty  unlucky  this  night.  So,  come  along,  Florry 
—we  are  worsted,  see !  No  use  to  be  standing  here 
longer,  the  laughing-stock  of  all  that's  in  it — Fer- 
rinafad. 

Miss  G.  Murder !  Father,  then  here's  all  you  done  for 
me,  by  your  lies  and  your  whiskey !  I'll  go  straight 
from  ye,  and  lodge  with  Mrs.  Mulrooney.  Biddy,  what's 
that  you're  grinning  at  ?  Plase  to  walk  home  out  of 
that. 

Biddy.  Miss  Florinda,  I  am  partly  engaged  to  dance ; 
but  I  won't  be  laving  you  in  your  downfall :  so  here's 
your  cloak — and  lane  on  me. 


240  THE   ROSE,   ETC.  }   A   DRAMA. 

Widow.  Why,  then,  Biddy,  we'll  never  forget  you  in 
our  prosperity. 

Mabel  and  Owen.  Never,  never.  You're  a  good  girl, 
Biddy. 

[Exeunt  Miss  GALLAGHER,  BIDDY,  and  CHRISTY. 

Clara.  I  am  glad  they  are  gone. 

Sir  W.  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  niece,  upon  hav- 
ing got  rid  of  tenants  who  would  have  disgraced  your 
choice. 

Clara.  These  (turning  to  OWEN,  MABEL, and  her  mother) 
these  will  do  honour  to  it.  My  written  promise  was  to 
grant  the  poefs  petition.  Owen,  you  are  the  poet — what 
is  your  petition  ? 

Owen.  May  I  speak  1 — May  I  say  all  I  wish  T 

Clara  and  Sir  W.  Yes,  speak — say  all  you  wish. 

Owen.  I  am  but  a  young  boy,  and  not  able  to  keep  the 
new  inn ;  but  Mr.  Gilbert  and  Mabel,  with  my  mother's 
help,  would  keep  it  well,  I  think ;  and  it's  they  I 
should  wish  to  have  it,  ma'am,  if  it  were  pleasing  to  you. 

Sir  W.  And  what  would  become  of  yourself,  my  good 
lad] 

Owen.  Time  enough,  sir,  to  think  of  myself,  when  I've 
seen  my  mother  and  sister  settled. 

Sir  W.  Then,  as  you  won't  think  of  yourself,  I  must 
think  for  you.  Your  education,  I  find,  has  been  well 
begun,  and  I  will  take  care  it  shall  not  be  left  half  done. 

Widow.  Oh,  I'm  too  happy  this  minute !  But  great 
joy  can  say  little. 

Mabel,  (aside)  And  great  love  the  same. 

Mr.  H.  This  day  is  the  happiest  I  have  seen  since  I 
left  the  land  of  cakes. 

Gilb.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hope.  And  when  I  say  thank 
you,  why,  I  feel  it.  'Twas  you  who  helped  us  at  the 
dead  lift. 

Sir  W.  You  see  I  was  right,  Gilbert ;  the  Scotch  make 
good  friends.  (GILBERT  bows.)  And  now,  Clara,  my 
love,  what  shall  we  call  the  new  inn — for  it  must  have 
a  name  ?  Since  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  have  united 
to  obtain  it,  let  the  sign  be  the  ROSE,  THISTLE,  and 
SHAMROCK. 


END    OF   COMIC   DRAMAS. 


A     000  075  231     1 


